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+The Project Gutenberg Etext of Home Lights and Shadows
+by T. S. Arthur
+(#9 in our series by T. S. Arthur)
+
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+Title: Home Lights and Shadows
+
+Author: T. S. Arthur
+
+Release Date: October, 2003  [Etext #4594]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on February 12, 2002]
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+Edition: 10
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+Language: English
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+Character set encoding: ASCII
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+The Project Gutenberg Etext of Home Lights and Shadows
+by T. S. Arthur
+******This file should be named hmlgh10.txt or hmlgh10.zip******
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+
+HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS.
+
+BY T. S. ARTHUR,
+
+AUTHOR OF "LIFE PICTURES," "OLD MAN'S BRIDE," AND "SPARING TO SPEND."
+
+NEW YORK:
+
+1853.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+
+
+
+RIGHTS AND WRONGS
+THE HUMBLED PHARISEE
+ROMANCE AND REALITY
+BOTH TO BLAME
+IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS
+THE MOTHER'S PROMISE
+THE TWO HUSBANDS
+VISITING AS NEIGHBORS
+NOT AT HOME
+THE FATAL ERROR
+FOLLOWING THE FASHIONS
+A DOLLAR ON THE CONSCIENCE
+AUNT MARY'S SUGGESTION
+HELPING THE POOR
+COMMON PEOPLE
+MAKING A SENSATION
+SOMETHING FOR A COLD
+THE PORTRAIT
+VERY POOR
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+
+
+
+HOME! How at the word, a crowd of pleasant thoughts awaken. What
+sun-bright images are pictured to the imagination. Yet, there is no
+home without its shadows as well as sunshine. Love makes the
+home-lights and selfishness the shadows. Ah! how dark the shadow at
+times--how faint and fleeting the sunshine. How often selfishness
+towers up to a giant height, barring out from our dwellings every
+golden ray. There are few of us, who do not, at times, darken with
+our presence the homes that should grow bright at our coming. It is
+sad to acknowledge this; yet, in the very acknowledgement is a
+promise of better things, for, it is rarely that we confess, without
+a resolution to overcome the evil that mars our own and others'
+happiness. Need we say, that the book now presented to the reader is
+designed to aid in the work of overcoming what is evil and selfish,
+that home-lights may dispel home-shadows, and keep them forever from
+our dwellings.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+RIGHTS AND WRONGS.
+
+
+
+
+
+IT is a little singular--yet certainly true--that people who are
+very tenacious of their own rights, and prompt in maintaining them,
+usually have rather vague notions touching the rights of others.
+Like the too eager merchant, in securing their own, they are very
+apt to get a little more than belongs to them.
+
+Mrs. Barbara Uhler presented a notable instance of this. We cannot
+exactly class her with the "strong-minded" women of the day. But she
+had quite a leaning in that direction; and if not very strong-minded
+herself, was so unfortunate as to number among her intimate friends
+two or three ladies who had a fair title to the distinction.
+
+Mrs. Barbara Uhler was a wife and a mother. She was also a woman;
+and her consciousness of this last named fact was never indistinct,
+nor ever unmingled with a belligerent appreciation of the rights
+appertaining to her sex and position.
+
+As for Mr. Herman Uhler, he was looked upon, abroad, as a mild,
+reasonable, good sort of a man. At home, however, he was held in a
+very different estimation. The "wife of his bosom" regarded him as
+an exacting domestic tyrant; and, in opposing his will, she only
+fell back, as she conceived, upon the first and most sacred law of
+her nature. As to "obeying" him, she had scouted that idea from the
+beginning. The words, "honor and obey," in the marriage service, she
+had always declared, would have to be omitted when she stood at the
+altar. But as she had, in her maidenhood, a very strong liking for
+the handsome young Mr. Uhler, and, as she could not obtain so
+material a change in the church ritual, as the one needed to meet
+her case, she wisely made a virtue of necessity, and went to the
+altar with her lover. The difficulty was reconciled to her own
+conscience by a mental reservation.
+
+It is worthy of remark that above all other of the obligations here
+solemnly entered into, this one, _not_ to honor and obey her
+husband, ever after remained prominent in the mind of Mrs. Barbara
+Uhler. And it was no fruitless sentiment, as Mr. Herman Uhler could
+feelingly testify.
+
+From the beginning it was clearly apparent to Mrs. Uhler that her
+husband expected too much from her; that he regarded her as a kind
+of upper servant in his household, and that he considered himself as
+having a right to complain if things were not orderly and
+comfortable. At first, she met his looks or words of displeasure,
+when his meals, for instance, were late, or so badly cooked as to be
+unhealthy and unpalatable, with--
+
+"I'm sorry, dear; but I can't help it."
+
+"Are you sure you can't help it, Barbara?" Mr. Uhler at length
+ventured to ask, in as mild a tone of voice as his serious feelings
+on the subject would enable him to assume.
+
+Mrs. Uhler's face flushed instantly, and she answered, with dignity:
+
+"I _am_ sure, Mr. Uhler."
+
+It was the first time, in speaking to her husband, that she had said
+"Mr. Uhler," in her life the first time she had ever looked at him
+with so steady and defiant an aspect.
+
+Now, we cannot say how most men would have acted under similar
+circumstances; we can only record what Mr. Uhler said and did:
+
+"And I am _not_ sure, Mrs. Uhler," was his prompt, impulsive reply,
+drawing himself up, and looking somewhat sternly at his better half.
+
+"You are not?" said Mrs. Uhler; and she compressed her lips tightly.
+
+"I am not," was the emphatic response.
+
+"And what do you expect me to do, pray?" came next from the lady's
+lips.
+
+"Do as I do in my business," answered the gentleman. "Have competent
+assistance, or see that things are done right yourself."
+
+"Go into the kitchen and cook the dinner, you mean, I suppose?"
+
+"You can put my meaning into any form of words you please, Barbara.
+You have charge of this household, and it is your place to see that
+everything due to the health and comfort of its inmates is properly
+cared for. If those to whom you delegate so important a part of
+domestic economy as the preparation of food, are ignorant or
+careless, surely it is your duty to go into the kitchen daily, and
+see that it is properly done. I never trust wholly to any individual
+in my employment. There is no department of the business to which I
+do not give personal attention. Were I to do so my customers would
+pay little regard to excuses about ignorant workmen and careless
+clerks. They would soon seek their goods in another and better
+conducted establishment."
+
+"Perhaps you had better seek your dinners elsewhere, if they are so
+little to your fancy at home."
+
+This was the cool, defiant reply of the outraged Mrs. Uhler.
+
+Alas, for Mr. Herman Uhler; he had, so far as his wife was
+concerned, committed the unpardonable sin; and the consequences
+visited upon his transgression were so overwhelming that he gave up
+the struggle in despair. Contention with such an antagonist, he saw,
+from the instinct of self-preservation, would be utterly disastrous.
+While little was to be gained, everything was in danger of being
+lost.
+
+"I have nothing more to say," was his repeated answer to the running
+fire which his wife kept up against him for a long time. "You are
+mistress of the house; act your own pleasure. Thank you for the
+suggestion about dinner. I may find it convenient to act thereon."
+
+The last part of this sentence was extorted by the continued
+irritating language of Mrs. Uhler. Its utterance rather cooled the
+lady's indignant ardor, and checked the sharp words that were
+rattling from her tongue. A truce to open warfare was tacitly agreed
+upon between the parties. The antagonism was not, however, the less
+real. Mrs. Uhler knew that her husband expected of her a degree of
+personal attention to household matters that she considered
+degrading to her condition as a wife; and, because he _expected_
+this, she, in order to maintain the dignity of her position, gave
+even less attention to these matters than would otherwise have been
+the case. Of course, under such administration of domestic affairs,
+causes for dissatisfaction on the part of Mr. Uhler, were ever in
+existence. For the most part he bore up under them with commendable
+patience; but, there were times when weak human nature faltered by
+the way--when, from heart-fulness the mouth would speak. This was
+but to add new fuel to the flame. This only gave to Mrs. Uhler a
+ground of argument against her husband as an unreasonable,
+oppressive tyrant; as one of the large class of men who not only
+regard woman as inferior, but who, in all cases of weak submission,
+hesitate not to put a foot upon her neck.
+
+Some of the female associates, among whom Mrs. Uhler unfortunately
+found herself thrown, were loud talkers about woman's rights and
+man's tyranny; and to them, with a most unwife-like indelicacy of
+speech, she did not hesitate to allude to her husband as one of the
+class of men who would trample upon a woman if permitted to do so.
+By these ladies she was urged to maintain her rights, to keep ever
+in view the dignity and elevation of her sex, and to let man, the
+tyrant, know, that a time was fast approaching when his haughty
+pride would be humbled to the dust.
+
+And so Mrs. Uhler, under this kind of stimulus to the maintainance
+of her own rights against the imaginary aggressions of her husband,
+trampled upon his rights in numberless ways.
+
+As time wore on, no change for the better occurred. A woman does not
+reason to just conclusions, either from facts or abstract principles
+like man; but takes, for the most part, the directer road of
+perception. If, therefore her womanly instincts are all right, her
+conclusions will be true; but if they are wrong, false judgment is
+inevitable. The instincts of Mrs. Uhler were wrong in the beginning,
+and she was, in consequence, easily led by her associates, into
+wrong estimates of both her own and her husband's position.
+
+One day, on coming home to dinner, Mr. Uhler was told by a servant,
+that his wife had gone to an anti-slavery meeting, and would not get
+back till evening, as she intended dining with a friend. Mr. Uhler
+made no remark on receiving this information. A meagre, badly-cooked
+dinner was served, to which he seated himself, alone, not to eat,
+but to chew the cud of bitter fancies. Business, with Mr. Uhler, had
+not been very prosperous of late; and he had suffered much from a
+feeling of discouragement. Yet, for all this, his wife's demands for
+money, were promptly met--and she was not inclined to be over
+careful as to the range of her expenditures.
+
+There was a singular expression on the face of Mr. Uhler, as he left
+his home on that day. Some new purpose had been formed in his mind,
+or some good principle abandoned. He was a changed man--changed for
+the worse, it may well be feared.
+
+It was late in the afternoon when Mrs. Uhler returned. To have
+inquired of the servant whether Mr. Uhler had made any remark, when
+he found that she was absent at dinner time, she would have regarded
+as a betrayal to that personage of a sense of accountability on her
+part. No; she stooped not to any inquiry of this kind--compromised
+not the independence of the individual.
+
+The usual tea hour was at hand--but, strange to say, the punctual
+Mr. Uhler did not make his appearance. For an hour the table stood
+on the floor, awaiting his return, but he came not. Then Mrs. Uhler
+gave her hungry, impatient little ones their suppers--singularly
+enough, she had no appetite for food herself--and sent them to bed.
+
+Never since her marriage had Mrs. Uhler spent so troubled an evening
+as that one proved to be. A dozen times she rallied herself--a dozen
+times she appealed to her independence and individuality as a woman,
+against the o'er-shadowing concern about her husband, which came
+gradually stealing upon her mind. And with this uncomfortable
+feeling were some intruding and unwelcome thoughts, that in no way
+stimulated her self-approval.
+
+It was nearly eleven o'clock when Mr. Uhler came home; and then he
+brought in his clothes such rank fumes of tobacco, and his breath
+was so tainted with brandy, that his wife had no need of inquiry as
+to where he had spent his evening. His countenance wore a look of
+vacant unconcern.
+
+"Ah! At home, are you?" said he, lightly, as he met his wife. "Did
+you have a pleasant day of it?"
+
+Mrs. Uhler was--frightened--shall we say? We must utter the word,
+even though it meet the eyes of her "strong minded" friends, who
+will be shocked to hear that one from whom they had hoped so much,
+should be frightened by so insignificant a creature as a husband.
+Yes, Mrs. Uhler was really frightened by this new aspect in which
+her husband presented himself. She felt that she was in a dilemma,
+to which, unhappily, there was not a single horn, much less choice
+between two.
+
+We believe Mrs. Uhler did not sleep very well during the night. Her
+husband, however, slept "like a log." On the next morning, her brow
+was overcast; but his countenance wore a careless aspect. He chatted
+with the children at the breakfast table, goodnaturedly, but said
+little to his wife, who had penetration enough to see that he was
+hiding his real feelings under an assumed exterior.
+
+"Are you going to be home to dinner to-day?" said Mr. Uhler,
+carelessly, as he arose from the table. He had only sipped part of a
+cup of bad coffee.
+
+"Certainly I am," was the rather sharp reply. The question irritated
+the lady.
+
+"You needn't on my account," said Mr. Uhler. "I've engaged to dine
+at the Astor with a friend."
+
+"Oh, very well!" Mrs. Uhler bridled and looked dignified. Yet, her
+flashing eyes showed that cutting words were ready to leap from her
+tongue. And they would have come sharply on the air, had not the
+manner of her husband been so unusual and really mysterious. In a
+word, a vague fear kept her silent.
+
+Mr. Uhler went to his store, but manifested little of his usual
+interest and activity. Much that he had been in the habit of
+attending to personally, he delegated to clerks. He dined at the
+Astor, and spent most of the afternoon there, smoking, talking, and
+drinking. At tea-time he came home. The eyes of Mrs. Uhler sought
+his face anxiously as he came in. There was a veil of mystery upon
+it, through which her eyes could not penetrate. Mr. Uhler remained
+at home during the evening, but did not seem to be himself. On the
+next morning, as he was about leaving the house, his wife said--
+
+"Can you let me have some money to-day?"
+
+Almost for the first time in her life, Mrs. Uhler asked this
+question in a hesitating manner; and, for the first time, she saw
+that her request was not favorably received.
+
+"How much do you want?" inquired the husband.
+
+"I should like to have a hundred dollars," said Mrs. Uhler.
+
+"I'm sorry; but I can't let you have it," was answered. "I lost five
+hundred dollars day before yesterday through the neglect of one of
+my clerks, while I was riding out with some friends."
+
+"Riding out!" exclaimed Mrs. Uhler.
+
+"Yes. You can't expect me to be always tied down to business. I like
+a little recreation and pleasant intercourse with friends as much as
+any one. Well, you see, a country dealer, who owed me five hundred
+dollars, was in the city, and promised to call and settle on the
+afternoon of day before yesterday. I explained to one of my clerks
+what he must do when the customer came in, and, of course, expected
+all to be done right. Not so, however. The man, when he found that
+he had my clerk, and not me, to deal with, objected to some
+unimportant charge in his bill, and the foolish fellow, instead of
+yielding the point, insisted that the account was correct. The
+customer went away, and paid out all his money in settling a bill
+with one of my neighbors. And so I got nothing. Most likely, I shall
+lose the whole account, as he is a slippery chap, and will, in all
+probability, see it to be his interest to make a failure between
+this and next spring. I just wanted that money to-day. Now I shall
+have to be running around half the morning to make up the sum I
+need."
+
+"But how could you go away under such circumstances, and trust all
+to a clerk?" said Mrs. Uhler warmly, and with reproof in her voice.
+
+"How could I!" was the quick response. "And do you suppose I am
+going to tie myself down to the store like a slave! You are mistaken
+if you do; that is all I have to say! I hire clerks to attend to my
+business."
+
+"But suppose they are incompetent? What then?" Mrs. Uhler was very
+earnest.
+
+"That doesn't in the least alter my character and position." Mr.
+Uhler looked his wife fixedly in the face for some moments after
+saying this, and then retired from the house without further remark.
+
+The change in her husband, which Mrs. Uhler at first tried to make
+herself believe was mere assumption or caprice, proved, unhappily, a
+permanent state. He neglected his business and his home for social
+companions; and whenever asked by his wife for supplies of cash,
+invariably gave as a reason why he could not supply her want, the
+fact of some new loss of custom, or money, in consequence of
+neglect, carelessness, or incompetency of clerks or workmen, when he
+was away, enjoying himself.
+
+For a long time, Mrs. Uhler's independent spirit struggled against
+the humiliating necessity that daily twined its coils closer and
+closer around her. More and more clearly did she see, in her
+husband's wrong conduct, a reflection of her own wrong deeds in the
+beginning. It was hard for her to acknowledge that she had been in
+error--even to herself. But conviction lifted before her mind,
+daily, its rebuking finger, and she could not shut the vision out.
+
+Neglect of business brought its disastrous consequences. In the end
+there was a failure; and yet, to the end, Mr. Uhler excused his
+conduct on the ground that he wasn't going to tie himself down like
+a galley slave to the oar--wasn't going to stoop to the drudgery he
+had employed clerks to perform. This was all his wife could gain
+from him in reply to her frequent remonstrances.
+
+Up to this time, Mr. Uhler had resisted the better suggestions
+which, in lucid intervals, if we may so call them, were thrown into
+her mind. Pride would not let her give to her household duties that
+personal care which their rightful performance demanded; the more
+particularly, as, in much of her husband's conduct, she plainly saw
+rebuke.
+
+At last, poverty, that stern oppressor, drove the Uhlers out from
+their pleasant home, and they shrunk away into obscurity, privation,
+and want. In the last interview held by Mrs. Uhler with the "strong
+minded" friends, whose society had so long thrown its fascinations
+around her, and whose views and opinions had so long exercised a
+baleful influence over her home, she was urgently advised to abandon
+her husband, whom one of the number did not hesitate to denounce in
+language so coarse and disgusting, that the latent instincts of the
+wife were shocked beyond measure. Her husband was not the brutal,
+sensual tyrant this refined lady, in her intemperate zeal,
+represented him. None knew the picture to be so false as Mrs. Uhler,
+and all that was good and true in her rose up in indignant
+rebellion.
+
+To her poor, comfortless home, and neglected children, Mrs. Uhler
+returned in a state of mind so different from anything she had
+experienced for years, that she half wondered within herself if she
+were really the same woman. Scales had fallen suddenly from her
+eyes, and she saw every thing around her in new aspects and new
+relations.
+
+"Has my husband really been an exacting tyrant?" This question she
+propounded to herself almost involuntarily. "Did he trample upon my
+rights in the beginning, or did I trample upon his? He had a right
+to expect from me the best service I could render, in making his
+home comfortable and happy. Did I render that service? did I see in
+my home duties my highest obligation as a wife? have I been a true
+wife to him?"
+
+So rapidly came these rebuking interrogations upon the mind of Mrs.
+Uhler, that it almost seemed as if an accuser stood near, and
+uttered the questions aloud. And how did she respond? Not in self
+justification. Convinced, humbled, repentant, she sought her home.
+
+It was late in the afternoon, almost evening, when Mrs. Uhler passed
+the threshold of her own door. The cry of a child reached her ears
+the moment she entered, and she knew, in an instant, that it was a
+cry of suffering, not anger or ill nature. Hurrying to her chamber,
+she found her three little ones huddled together on the floor, the
+youngest with one of its arms and the side of its face badly burned
+in consequence of its clothes having taken fire. As well as she
+could learn, the girl in whose charge she had left the children, and
+who, in the reduced circumstances of the family, was constituted
+doer of all work, had, from some pique, gone away in her absence.
+Thus left free to go where, and do what they pleased, the children
+had amused themselves in playing with the fire. When the clothes of
+the youngest caught in the blaze of a lighted stick, the two oldest,
+with singular presence of mind, threw around her a wet towel that
+hung near, and thus saved her life.
+
+"Has your father been home?" asked Mrs. Uhler, as soon as she
+comprehended the scene before her.
+
+"Yes, ma'am," was answered.
+
+"Where is he?"
+
+"He's gone for the doctor," replied the oldest of the children.
+
+"What did he say?" This question was involuntary. The child
+hesitated for a moment, and then replied artlessly--
+
+"He said he wished we had no mother, and then he'd know how to take
+care of us himself."
+
+The words came with the force of a blow. Mrs. Uhler staggered
+backwards, and sunk upon a chair, weak, for a brief time, as an
+infant. Ere yet her strength returned, her husband came in with a
+doctor. He did not seem to notice her presence; but she soon made
+that apparent. All the mother's heart was suddenly alive in her. She
+was not over officious--had little to say; but her actions were all
+to the purpose. In due time, the little sufferer was in a
+comfortable state and the doctor retired.
+
+Not a word had, up to this moment, passed between the husband and
+wife. Now, the eyes of the latter sought those of Mr. Uhler; but
+there came no answering glance. His face was sternly averted.
+
+Darkness was now beginning to fall, and Mrs. Uhler left her husband
+and children, and went down into the kitchen. The fire had burned
+low; and was nearly extinguished. The girl had not returned; and,
+from what Mrs. Uhler gathered from the children would not, she
+presumed, come back to them again. It mattered not, however; Mrs.
+Uhler was in no state of mind to regard this as a cause of trouble.
+She rather felt relieved by her absence. Soon the fire was
+rekindled; the kettle simmering; and, in due time, a comfortable
+supper was on the table, prepared by her own hands, and well
+prepared too.
+
+Mr. Uhler was a little taken by surprise, when, on being summoned to
+tea, he took his place at the usually uninviting table, and saw
+before him a dish of well made toast, and a plate of nicely boiled
+ham. He said nothing; but a sensation of pleasure, so warm that it
+made his heart beat quicker, pervaded his bosom; and this was
+increased, when he placed the cup of well made, fragrant tea to his
+lips, and took a long delicious draught. All had been prepared by
+the hands of his wife--that he knew. How quickly his pleasure sighed
+itself away, as he remembered that, with her ample ability to make
+his home the pleasantest place for him in the world, she was wholly
+wanting in inclination.
+
+Usually, the husband spent his evenings away. Something caused him
+to linger in his own home on this occasion. Few words passed between
+him and his wife; but the latter was active through all the evening,
+and, wherever her hand was laid, order seemed to grow up from
+disorder; and the light glinted back from a hundred places in the
+room, where no cheerful reflection had ever met his eyes before.
+
+Mr. Uhler looked on, in wonder and hope, but said nothing. Strange
+enough, Mrs. Uhler was up by day-dawn on the next morning; and in
+due time, a very comfortable breakfast was prepared by her own
+hands. Mr. Uhler ventured a word of praise, as he sipped his coffee.
+Never had he tasted finer in his life, he said. Mrs. Uhler looked
+gratified; but offered no response.
+
+At dinner time Mr. Uhler came home from the store, where he was now
+employed at a small salary, and still more to his surprise, found a
+well cooked and well served meal awaiting him. Never, since his
+marriage, had he eaten food at his own table with so true a
+relish--never before had every thing in his house seemed so much
+like home.
+
+And so things went on for a week, Mr. Uhler wondering and observant,
+and Mrs. Uhler finding her own sweet reward, not only in a
+consciousness of duty, but in seeing a great change in her husband,
+who was no longer moody and ill-natured, and who had not been absent
+once at meal time, nor during an evening, since she had striven to
+be to him a good wife, and to her children a self denying mother.
+
+There came, now, to be a sort of tacit emulation of good offices
+between the wife and husband, who had, for so many years, lived in a
+state of partial indifference. Mr. Uhler urged the procuring of a
+domestic, in place of the girl who had left them, but Mrs. Uhler
+said no--their circumstances would not justify the expense. Mr.
+Uhler said they could very well afford it, and intimated something
+about an expected advance in his salary.
+
+"I do not wish to see you a mere household drudge," he said to her
+one day, a few weeks after the change just noted. "You know so well
+how every thing ought to be done, that the office of director alone
+should be yours. I think there is a brighter day coming for us. I
+hope so. From the first of next month, my salary is to be increased
+to a thousand dollars. Then we will move from this poor place, into
+a better home."
+
+There was a blending of hopefulness and tenderness in the voice of
+Mr. Uhler, that touched his wife deeply. Overcome by her feelings,
+she laid her face upon his bosom, and wept.
+
+"Whether the day be brighter or darker," she said, when she could
+speak calmly, "God helping me, I will be to you a true wife, Herman.
+If there be clouds and storms without, the hearth shall only burn
+the brighter for you within. Forgive me for the past, dear husband!
+and have faith in me for the future. You shall not be disappointed."
+
+And he was not. Mrs. Uhler had discovered her true relation, and had
+become conscious of her true duties. She was no longer jealous of
+her own rights, and therefore never trespassed on the rights of her
+husband.
+
+The rapidity with which Mr. Uhler rose to his old position in
+business, sometimes caused a feeling of wonder to pervade the mind
+of his wife. From a clerk of one thousand, he soon came into the
+receipt of two thousand a year, then rose to be a partner in the
+business, and in a singularly short period was a man of wealth. Mrs.
+Uhler was puzzled, sometimes, at this, and so were other people. It
+was even hinted, that he had never been as poor as was pretended. Be
+that as it may, as he never afterwards trusted important matters to
+the discretion of irresponsible clerks, his business operations went
+on prosperously; and, on the other hand, as Mrs. Uhler never again
+left the comfort and health of her family entirely in the hands of
+ignorant and careless domestics, the home of her husband was the
+pleasantest place in the world for him, and his wife, not a mere
+upper servant, but a loving and intelligent companion, whom he cared
+for and cherished with the utmost tenderness.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE HUMBLED PHARISEE.
+
+
+
+
+
+"WHAT was that?" exclaimed Mrs. Andrews, to the lady who was seated
+next to her, as a single strain of music vibrated for a few moments
+on the atmosphere.
+
+"A violin, I suppose," was answered.
+
+"A violin!" An expression almost of horror came into the countenance
+of Mrs. Andrews. "It can't be possible."
+
+It was possible, however, for the sound came again, prolonged and
+varied.
+
+"What does it mean?" asked Mrs. Andrews, looking troubled, and
+moving uneasily in her chair.
+
+"Cotillions, I presume," was answered, carelessly.
+
+"Not dancing, surely!"
+
+But, even as Mrs. Andrews said this, a man entered, carrying in his
+hand a violin. There was an instant movement on the part of several
+younger members of the company; partners were chosen, and ere Mrs.
+Andrews had time to collect her suddenly bewildered thoughts, the
+music had struck up, and the dancers were in motion.
+
+"I can't remain here. It's an outrage!" said Mrs. Andrews, making a
+motion to rise.
+
+The lady by whom she was sitting comprehended now more clearly her
+state of mind, and laying a hand on her arm, gently restrained her.
+
+"Why not remain? What is an outrage, Mrs. Andrews?" she asked.
+
+"Mrs. Burdick knew very well that I was a member of the church." The
+lady's manner was indignant.
+
+"All your friends know that, Mrs. Andrews," replied the other. A
+third person might have detected in her tones a lurking sarcasm. But
+this was not perceived by the individual addressed. "But what is
+wrong?"
+
+"Wrong! Isn't that wrong?" And she glanced towards the mazy wreath
+of human figures already circling on the floor. "I could not have
+believed it of Mrs. Burdick; she knew that I was a professor of
+religion."
+
+"She doesn't expect you to dance, Mrs. Andrews," said the lady.
+
+"But she expects me to countenance the sin and folly by my
+presence."
+
+"Sin and folly are strong terms, Mrs. Andrews."
+
+"I know they are, and I use them advisedly. I hold it a sin to
+dance."
+
+"I know wise and good people who hold a different opinion."
+
+"Wise and good!" Mrs. Andrews spoke with strong disgust. "I wouldn't
+give much for their wisdom and goodness--not I!"
+
+"The true qualities of men and women are best seen at home. When
+people go abroad, they generally change their attire--mental as well
+as bodily. Now, I have seen the home-life of certain ladies, who do
+not think it sin to dance, and it was full of the heart's warm
+sunshine; and I have seen the home-life of certain ladies who hold
+dancing to be sinful, and I have said to myself, half shudderingly:
+"What child can breathe that atmosphere for years, and not grow up
+with a clouded spirit, and a fountain of bitterness in the heart!"
+
+"And so you mean to say," Mrs. Andrews spoke with some asperity of
+manner, "that dancing makes people better?--Is, in fact, a means of
+grace?"
+
+"No. I say no such thing."
+
+"Then what do you mean to say? I draw the only conclusion I can
+make."
+
+"One may grow better or worse from dancing," said the lady. "All
+will depend on the spirit in which the recreation is indulged. In
+itself the act is innocent."
+
+Mrs. Andrews shook her head.
+
+"In what does its sin consist?"
+
+"It is an idle waste of time."
+
+"Can you say nothing worse of it?"
+
+"I could, but delicacy keeps me silent."
+
+"Did you ever dance?"
+
+"Me? What a question! No!"
+
+"I have danced often. And, let me say, that your inference on the
+score of indelicacy is altogether an assumption."
+
+"Why everybody admits that."
+
+"Not by any means."
+
+"If the descriptions of some of the midnight balls and assemblies
+that I have heard, of the waltzing, and all that, be true, then
+nothing could be more indelicate,--nothing more injurious to the
+young and innocent."
+
+"All good things become evil in their perversions," said the lady.
+"And I will readily agree with you, that dancing is perverted, and
+its use, as a means of social recreation, most sadly changed into
+what is injurious. The same may be said of church going."
+
+"You shock me," said Mrs. Andrews. "Excuse me, but you are profane."
+
+"I trust not. For true religion--for the holy things of the
+church--I trust that I have the most profound reverence. But let me
+prove what I say, that even church going may become evil."
+
+"I am all attention," said the incredulous Mrs. Andrews.
+
+"You can bear plain speaking."
+
+"Me!" The church member looked surprised.
+
+"Yes, you."
+
+"Certainly I can. But why do you ask?"
+
+"To put you on your guard,--nothing more."
+
+"Don't fear but what I can bear all the plain speaking you may
+venture upon. As to church going being evil, I am ready to prove the
+negative against any allegations you can advance. So speak on."
+
+After a slight pause, to collect her thoughts, the lady said:
+
+"There has been a protracted meeting in Mr. B----'s church."
+
+"I know it. And a blessed time it was."
+
+"You attended?"
+
+"Yes, every day; and greatly was my soul refreshed and
+strengthened."
+
+"Did you see Mrs. Eldridge there?"
+
+"Mrs. Eldridge? No indeed, except on Sunday. She's too
+worldly-minded for that."
+
+"She has a pew in your church."
+
+"Yes; and comes every Sunday morning because it is fashionable and
+respectable to go to church. As for her religion, it isn't worth
+much and will hardly stand her at the last day."
+
+"Why Mrs. Andrews! You shock me! Have you seen into her heart? Do
+you know her purposes? Judge not, that ye be not judged, is the
+divine injunction."
+
+"A tree is known by its fruit," said Mrs. Andrews, who felt the
+rebuke, and slightly colored.
+
+"True; and by their fruits shall ye know them," replied the lady.
+"But come, there are too many around us here for this earnest
+conversation. We will take a quarter of an hour to ourselves in one
+of the less crowded rooms. No one will observe our absence, and you
+will be freed from the annoyance of these dancers."
+
+The two ladies quietly retired from the drawing rooms. As soon as
+they were more alone, the last speaker resumed.
+
+"By their fruits ye shall know them. Do men gather grapes of thorns,
+or figs of thistles? Let me relate what I saw and heard in the
+families of two ladies during this protracted meeting. One of these
+ladies was Mrs. Eldridge. I was passing in her neighborhood about
+four o'clock, and as I owed her a call, thought the opportunity a
+good one for returning it. On entering, my ears caught the blended
+music of a piano, and children's happy voices. From the front
+parlor, through the partly opened door, a sight, beautiful to my
+eyes, was revealed. Mrs. Eldridge was seated at the instrument, her
+sweet babe asleep on one arm, while, with a single hand, she was
+touching the notes of a familiar air, to which four children were
+dancing. A more innocent, loving, happy group I have never seen. For
+nearly ten minutes I gazed upon them unobserved, so interested that
+I forgot the questionable propriety of my conduct, and during that
+time, not an unkind word was uttered by one of the children, nor did
+anything occur to mar the harmony of the scene. It was a sight on
+which angels could have looked, nay, did look with pleasure; for,
+whenever hearts are tuned to good affections, angels are present.
+The music was suspended, and the dancing ceased, as I presented
+myself. The mother greeted me with a happy smile, and each of the
+children spoke to her visitor with an air at once polite and
+respectful.
+
+"'I've turned nurse for the afternoon, you see,' said Mrs. Eldridge,
+cheerfully. 'It's Alice's day to go out, and I never like to trust
+our little ones with the chambermaid, who is n't over fond of
+children. We generally have a good time on these occasions, for I
+give myself up to them entirely. They've read, and played, and told
+stories, until tired, and now I've just brightened them up, body and
+mind, with a dance.'
+
+"And bright and happy they all looked.
+
+"'Now run up into the nursery for a little while, and build block
+houses,' said she, 'while I have a little pleasant talk with my
+friend. That's good children. And I want you to be very quiet, for
+dear little Eddy is fast asleep, and I'm going to lay him in his
+crib.'
+
+"Away went the children, and I heard no more of them for the half
+hour during which I staid. With the child in her arms, Mrs. Eldridge
+went up to her chamber, and I went with her. As she was laying him
+in the crib, I took from the mantle a small porcelain figure of a
+kneeling child, and was examining it, when she turned to me. 'Very
+beautiful,' said I. 'It is,' she replied.--'We call it our Eddy,
+saying his prayers. There is a history attached to it. Very early I
+teach my little ones to say an evening prayer. First impressions are
+never wholly effaced; I therefore seek to implant, in the very
+dawning of thought, an idea of God, and our dependence on him for
+life and all our blessings, knowing that, if duly fixed, this idea
+will ever remain, and be the vessel, in after years, for the
+reception of truth flowing down from the great source of all truth.
+Strangely enough, my little Eddy, so sweet in temper as he was,
+steadily refused to say his prayers. I tried in every way that I
+could think of to induce him to kneel with the other children, and
+repeat a few simple words; but not his aversion thereto was
+unconquerable. I at last grew really troubled about it. There seemed
+to be a vein in his character that argued no good. One day I saw
+this kneeling child in a store. With the sight of it came the
+thought of how I might use it. I bought the figure, and did not show
+it to Eddy until he was about going to bed. The effect was all I had
+hoped to produce. He looked at it for some moments earnestly, then
+dropped on his little knees, clasped his white hands, and murmured
+the prayer I had so long and so vainly striven to make him repeat.'
+
+"Tears were in the eyes of Mrs. Eldridge, as she uttered the closing
+words. I felt that she was a true mother, and loved her children
+with a high and holy love. And now, let me give you a picture that
+strongly contrasts with this. Not far from Mrs. Eldridge, resides a
+lady, who is remarkable for her devotion to the church, and, I am
+compelled to say, want of charity towards all who happen to differ
+with her--more particularly, if the difference involves church
+matters. It was after sundown; still being in the neighborhood, I
+embraced the opportunity to make a call. On ringing the bell, I
+heard, immediately, a clatter of feet down the stairs and along the
+passage, accompanied by children's voices, loud and boisterous. It
+was some time before the door was opened, for each of the four
+children, wishing to perform the office, each resisted the others'
+attempts to admit the visitor. Angry exclamations, rude outcries,
+ill names, and struggles for the advantage continued, until the
+cook, attracted from the kitchen by the noise, arrived at the scene
+of contention, and after jerking the children so roughly as to set
+the two youngest crying, swung it open, and I entered. On gaining
+the parlor, I asked for the mother of these children.
+
+"'She isn't at home,' said the cook.
+
+"'She's gone to church,' said the oldest of the children.
+
+"'I wish she'd stay at home,' remarked cook in a very disrespectful
+way, and with a manner that showed her to be much fretted in her
+mind. 'It's Mary's day out, and she knows I can't do anything with
+the children. Such children I never saw! They don't mind a word you
+say, and quarrel so among themselves, that it makes one sick to hear
+them.'
+
+"At this moment a headless doll struck against the side of my neck.
+It had been thrown by one child at another; missing her aim, she
+gave me the benefit of her evil intention. At this, cook lost all
+patience, and seizing the offending little one, boxed her soundly,
+before I could interfere. The language used by that child, as she
+escaped from the cook's hands, was shocking. It made my flesh creep!
+
+"'Did I understand you to say that your mother had gone to church?'
+I asked of the oldest child.
+
+"'Yes, ma'am,' was answered. 'She's been every day this week.
+There's a protracted meeting.'
+
+"'Give me that book!' screamed a child, at this moment. Glancing
+across the room, I saw two of the little ones contending for
+possession of a large family Bible, which lay upon a small table.
+Before I could reach them, for I started forward, from an impulse of
+the moment, the table was thrown over, the marble top broken, and
+the cover torn from the sacred volume."
+
+The face of Mrs. Andrews became instantly of a deep crimson. Not
+seeming to notice this, her friend continued.
+
+"As the table fell, it came within an inch of striking another child
+on the head, who had seated himself on the floor. Had it done so, a
+fractured skull, perhaps instant death, would have been the
+consequence."
+
+Mrs. Andrews caught her breath, and grew very pale. The other
+continued.
+
+"In the midst of the confusion that followed, the father came home.
+
+"'Where is your mother?' he asked of one of the children.
+
+"'Gone to church,' was replied.
+
+"'O dear!' I can hear his voice now, with its tone of
+hopelessness,--'This church-going mania is dreadful. I tell my wife
+that it is all wrong. That her best service to God is to bring up
+her children in the love of what is good and true,--in filial
+obedience and fraternal affection. But it avails not.'
+
+"And now, Mrs. Andrews," continued the lady, not in the least
+appearing to notice the distress and confusion of her over-pious
+friend, whom she had placed upon the rack, "When God comes to make
+up his jewels, and says to Mrs. Eldridge, and also to this mother
+who thought more of church-going than of her precious little ones,
+'Where are the children I gave you?' which do you think will be most
+likely to answer, 'Here they are, not one is lost?'"
+
+"Have I not clearly shown you that even church-going may be
+perverted into an evil? That piety may attain an inordinate growth,
+while charity is dead at the root? Spiritual pride; a vain conceit
+of superior goodness because of the observance of certain forms and
+ceremonies, is the error into which too many devout religionists
+fall. But God sees not as man seeth. He looks into the heart, and
+judges his creatures by the motives that rule them."
+
+And, as she said this, she arose, the silent and rebuked Mrs.
+Andrews, whose own picture had been drawn, following her down to the
+gay drawing rooms.
+
+Many a purer heart than that of the humbled Pharisee beat there
+beneath the bosoms of happy maidens even though their feet were
+rising and falling in time to witching melodies.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ROMANCE AND REALITY.
+
+
+
+
+
+"I MET with a most splendid girl last evening," remarked to his
+friend a young man, whose fine, intellectual forehead, and clear
+bright eye, gave indications of more than ordinary mental
+endowments.
+
+"Who is she?" was the friend's brief question.
+
+"Her name is Adelaide Merton. Have you ever seen her?"
+
+"No, but I have often heard of the young lady."
+
+"As a girl of more than ordinary intelligence?"
+
+"O yes. Don't you remember the beautiful little gems of poetry that
+used to appear in the Gazette, under the signature of Adelaide?"
+
+"Very well. Some of them were exquisite, and all indicative of a
+fine mind. Was she their author?"
+
+"So I have been told."
+
+"I can very readily believe it; for never have I met with a woman
+who possessed such a brilliant intellect. Her power of expression is
+almost unbounded. Her sentences are perfect pictures of the scenes
+she describes. If she speaks of a landscape, not one of its most
+minute features is lost, nor one of the accessories to its
+perfection as a whole overlooked. And so of every thing else, in the
+higher regions of the intellect, or in the lower forms of nature.
+For my own part, I was lost in admiration of her qualities. She will
+yet shine in the world."
+
+The young man who thus expressed himself in regard to Adelaide
+Merton, was named Charles Fenwick. He possessed a brilliant mind,
+which had been well stored. But his views of life were altogether
+perverted and erroneous, and his ends deeply tinctured with the love
+of distinction, for its own sake. A few tolerably successful
+literary efforts, had been met by injudicious over praise, leading
+him to the vain conclusion that his abilities were of so high a
+character, that no field of action was for him a worthy one that had
+any thing to do with what he was pleased to term the ordinary
+grovelling pursuits of life. Of course, all mere mechanical
+operations were despised, and as a natural consequence, the men who
+were engaged in them. So with merchandizing, and also with the
+various branches of productive enterprise. They were mere ministers
+of the base physical wants of our nature. His mind took in higher
+aims than these!
+
+His father was a merchant in moderate circumstances, engaged in a
+calling which was of course despised by the son, notwithstanding he
+was indebted to his father's constant devotion to that calling for
+his education, and all the means of comfort and supposed distinction
+that he enjoyed. The first intention of the elder Mr. Fenwick had
+been to qualify his son, thoroughly, for the calling of a merchant,
+that he might enter into business with him and receive the benefits
+of his experience and facilities in trade. But about the age of
+seventeen, while yet at college, young Fenwick made the unfortunate
+discovery that he could produce a species of composition which he
+called poetry. His efforts were praised--and this induced him to go
+on; until he learned the art of tolerably smooth versification. This
+would all have been well enough had he not imagined himself to be,
+in consequence, of vastly increased importance. Stimulated by this
+idea, he prosecuted his collegiate studies with renewed diligence,
+storing a strong and comprehensive mind with facts and principles in
+science and philosophy, that would have given him, in after life, no
+ordinary power of usefulness as a literary and professional man, had
+not his selfish ends paralysed and perverted the natural energies of
+a good intellect.
+
+The father's intention of making him a merchant was, of course,
+opposed by the son, who chose one of the learned profession as more
+honorable--not more useful; a profession that would give him
+distinction--not enable him to fill his right place in society. In
+this he was gratified. At the time of his introduction to the
+reader, he was known as a young physician without a patient. He had
+graduated, but had not yet seen any occasion for taking an office,
+as his father's purse supplied all his wants. His pursuits were
+mainly literary--consisting of essays and reviews for some of the
+periodicals intermixed with a liberal seasoning of pretty fair
+rhymes which rose occasionally to the dignity of poetry--or, as he
+supposed, to the lofty strains of a Milton or a Dante. Occasionally
+a lecture before some literary association brought his name into the
+newspapers in connection with remarks that kindled his vanity into a
+flame. Debating clubs afforded another field for display, and he
+made liberal use of the facility. So much for Charles Fenwick.
+
+Of Adelaide Merton, we may remark, that she was just the kind of a
+woman to captivate a young man of Fenwick's character. She was showy
+in her style of conversation, but exceedingly superficial. Her
+reading consisted principally of poetry and the popular light
+literature of the day, with a smattering of history. She could
+repeat, in quite an attractive style, many fine passages from Homer,
+Virgil, Milton, Shakspeare, Pope, Byron, Shelley, Coleridge, and a
+host of lesser lights in the poetic hemisphere--and could quote from
+and criticise the philosophy and style of Bulwer with the most
+edifying self-satisfaction imaginable--not to enumerate her many
+other remarkable characteristics.
+
+A second visit to Adelaide confirmed the first favorable impression
+made upon the mind of Fenwick. At the third visit he was half in
+love with her, and she more than half in love with him. A fourth
+interview completed the work on both sides. At the fifth, the
+following conversation terminated the pleasant intercourse of the
+evening. They were seated on a sofa, and had been talking of poetry,
+and birds, and flowers, green fields, and smiling landscapes, and a
+dozen other things not necessary to be repeated at present. A pause
+of some moments finally succeeded, and each seemed deeply absorbed
+in thought.
+
+"Adelaide," at length the young man said in a low, musical tone,
+full of richness and pathos--"Do you not feel, sometimes, when your
+mind rises into the region of pure thoughts, and ranges free among
+the beautiful and glorious images that then come and go like angel
+visitants, a sense of loneliness, because another cannot share what
+brings to you such exquisite delight?"
+
+"Yes--often and often," replied the maiden lifting her eyes to those
+of Fenwick, and gazing at him with a tender expression.
+
+"And yet few there are, Adelaide, few indeed who could share such
+elevating pleasures."
+
+"Few, indeed," was the response.
+
+"Pardon me, for saying," resumed the young man, "that to you I have
+been indebted for such added delights. Rarely, indeed, have I been
+able to find, especially among your gentler sex, one who could rise
+with me into the refining, elevating, exquisite pleasures of the
+imagination. But you have seemed fully to appreciate my sentiments,
+and fully to sympathize with them."
+
+To this Adelaide held down her head for a moment or two, the
+position causing the blood to deepen in her cheeks and forehead.
+Then looking up with an expression of lofty poetic feeling she
+said--
+
+"And, until I met you, Mr. Fenwick, I must be frank in saying, that
+I have known no one, whose current of thought and feeling--no one
+whose love of the beautiful in the ideal or natural--has seemed so
+perfect a reflection of my own."
+
+To this followed another pause, longer and more thoughtful than the
+first. It was at length broken by Fenwick, who said, in a voice that
+trembled perceptibly.
+
+"I have an inward consciousness, that sprung into activity when the
+first low murmur of your voice fell upon my ear, that you were to me
+a kindred spirit. Since that moment, this consciousness has grown
+daily more and more distinct, and now I feel impelled, by a movement
+which I cannot resist, to declare its existence. First parden this
+freedom, Adelaide, and then say if you understand and appreciate
+what I have uttered in all frankness and sincerity?"
+
+Not long did our young friend wait for an answer that made him
+happier than he had ever been in his life--happy in the first
+thrilling consciousness of love deeply and fervently reciprocated.
+To both of them, there was a degree of romance about this brief
+courtship that fully accorded with their views of love truly so
+called. The ordinary cold matter-of-fact way of coming together,
+including a cautious and even at times a suspicious investigation of
+character, they despised as a mere mockery of the high, spontaneous
+confidence which those who are truly capable of loving, feel in each
+other--a confidence which nothing can shake. And thus did they
+pledge themselves without either having thought of the other's moral
+qualities; or either of them having formed any distinct ideas in
+regard to the true nature of the marriage relation.
+
+A few months sufficed to comsummate their union, when, in accordance
+with the gay young couple's desire, old Mr. Fenwick furnished them
+out handsomely, at a pretty heavy expense, in an establishment of
+their own. As Charles Fenwick had not, heretofore, shown any
+inclination to enter upon the practice of the profession he had
+chosen, his father gently urged upon him the necessity of now doing
+so. But the idea of becoming a practical doctor, was one that
+Charles could not abide. He had no objection to the title, for that
+sounded quite musical to his ear; but no farther than that did his
+fancy lead him.
+
+"Why didn't I choose the law as a profession?" he would sometimes
+say to his young wife. "Then I might have shone. But to bury myself
+as a physician, stealing about from house to house, and moping over
+sick beds, is a sacrifice of my talents that I cannot think of
+without turning from the picture with disgust."
+
+"Nor can I," would be the wife's reply. "And what is more, I never
+will consent to such a perversion of your talents."
+
+"Why cannot you study law, even now, Charles?" she asked of him one
+day. "With your acquirements, and habits of thought, I am sure you
+would soon be able to pass an examination."
+
+"I think that is a good suggestion, Adelaide," her husband replied,
+thoughtfully. "I should only want a year or eighteen months for
+preparation, and then I could soon place myself in the front rank of
+the profession."
+
+The suggestion of Charles Fenwick's wife was promptly adopted. A
+course of legal studies was entered upon, and completed in about two
+years. Up to this time, every thing had gone on with our young
+couple as smoothly as a summer sea. A beautifully furnished house,
+well kept through the attention of two or three servants, gave to
+their indoor enjoyments a very important accessory. For money there
+was no care, as the elder Mr. Fenwick's purse-strings relaxed as
+readily to the hand of Charles as to his own. A pleasant round of
+intelligent company, mostly of a literary character, with a full
+supply of all the new publications and leading periodicals of the
+day, kept their minds elevated into the region of intellectual
+enjoyments, and caused them still more to look down upon the
+ordinary pursuits of life as far beneath them.
+
+But all this could not last forever. On the day Charles was admitted
+to the bar, he received a note from his father, requesting an
+immediate interview. He repaired at once to his counting room, in
+answer to the parental summons.
+
+"Charles," said the old man, when they were alone, "I have, up to
+this time, supplied all your wants, and have done it cheerfully. In
+order to prepare you for taking your right place in society, I have
+spared no expense in your education, bearing you, after your term of
+college life had expired, through two professional courses, so that,
+as either a physician or a lawyer, you are fully equal to the task
+of sustaining yourself and family. As far as I am concerned, the
+tide of prosperity has evidently turned against me. For two years, I
+have felt myself gradually going back, instead of forward,
+notwithstanding my most earnest struggles to maintain at least the
+position already gained. To-day, the notice of a heavy loss
+completes my inability to bear the burden of your support, and that
+of my own family. You must, therefore, Charles, enter the world for
+yourself, and there struggle as I have done, and as all do around
+you, for a living. But, as I know that it will be impossible for you
+to obtain sufficient practice at once in either law or medicine to
+maintain yourself, I will spare you out of my income, which will now
+be small in comparison to what it has been, four hundred dollars a
+year, for the next two years. You must yourself make up the
+deficiency, and no doubt you can easily do so."
+
+"But, father," replied the young man, his face turning pale, "I
+cannot, possibly, make up the deficiency. Our rent alone, you know,
+is four hundred dollars."
+
+"I am aware of that, Charles. But what then? You must get a house at
+one half that rent, and reduce your style of living, proportionably,
+in other respects."
+
+"What! And compromise my standing in society? I can never do that,
+father."
+
+"Charles," said the old man, looking at his son with a sterner
+countenance than he had ever yet put on when speaking to him,
+"remember that you have no standing in society which you can truly
+call your own. I have, heretofore, held you up, and now that my
+sustaining hand is about to be withdrawn, you must fall or rise to
+your own level. And I am satisfied, that the sooner you are
+permitted to do so the better."
+
+The fact was, that the selfish, and to old Mr. Fenwick, the
+heartless manner in which Charles had received the communication of
+his changed circumstances, had wounded him exceedingly, and suddenly
+opened his eyes to the false relation which his son was holding to
+society.
+
+"You certainly cannot be in earnest, father," the son replied, after
+a few moments of hurried and painful thought, "in declaring your
+intention of throwing me off with a meagre pittance of four hundred
+dollars, before I have had a chance to do any thing for myself. How
+can I possibly get along on that sum?"
+
+"I do not expect you to live on that, Charles. But the difference
+you will have to make up yourself. You have talents and
+acquirements. Bring them into useful activity, and you will need
+little of my assistance. As for me, as I have already told you, the
+tide of success is against me, and I am gradually moving down the
+stream. Four hundred dollars is the extent of what I can give you,
+and how long the ability to do that may last, Heaven only knows."
+
+Reluctantly the young couple were compelled to give up their
+elegantly arranged dwelling, and move into a house of about one half
+of its dimensions. In this there was a fixed, cold, common place
+reality, that shocked the sensibilities of both even though
+throughout the progress of the change, each had remained passive in
+the hands of the elder Mr. and Mrs. Fenwick, who had to choose them
+a house, and attend to all the arrangements of moving and refitting
+the new home. For Charles to have engaged in the vulgar business of
+moving household furniture, would have been felt as a disgrace;--and
+as for Adelaide, she didn't know how to do any thing in regard to
+the matter, and even if she had, would have esteemed such an
+employment as entirely beneath her.
+
+While the packing up was going on under the direction of her
+husband's mother, Adelaide, half dressed, with an elegant shawl
+thrown carelessly about her shoulders, her feet drawn up and her
+body reclining upon a sofa, was deeply buried in the last new novel,
+while her babe lay in the arms of a nurse, who was thus prevented
+from rendering any assistance to those engaged in preparing the
+furniture for removal. As for her husband, he was away, in some
+professional friend's office, holding a learned discussion upon the
+relative merits of Byron and Shelley.
+
+After the removal had been accomplished, and the neat little
+dwelling put, as the elder Mrs. Fenwick termed it, into "apple-pie
+order" the following conversation took place between her and her
+daughter-in-law.
+
+"Adelaide, it will now be necessary for you to let both your nurse
+and chambermaid go. Charles cannot possibly afford the expense, as
+things now are."
+
+"Let my nurse and chambermaid go!" exclaimed Adelaide, with a look
+and tone of profound astonishment.
+
+"Certainly, Adelaide," was the firm reply. "You cannot now afford to
+keep three servants."
+
+"But how am I to get along without them? You do not, certainly,
+suppose that I can be my own nurse and chambermaid?"
+
+"With your small family," was Mrs. Fenwick's reply, "you can readily
+have the assistance of your cook for a portion of the morning in
+your chamber and parlors. And as to the nursing part, I should think
+that you would desire no higher pleasure than having all the care of
+dear little Anna. I was always my own nurse, and never had
+assistance beyond that of a little girl."
+
+"It's no use to speak in that way, mother; I cannot do without a
+nurse," said Adelaide, bursting into tears. "I couldn't even dress
+the baby."
+
+"The sooner you learn, child, the better," was the persevering reply
+of Mrs. Fenwick.
+
+But Adelaide had no idea of dispensing with either nurse or
+chambermaid, both of whom were retained in spite of the
+remonstrances and entreaties of the mother-in-law.
+
+Driven to the absolute necessity of doing so, Charles Fenwick opened
+an office, and advertised for business. Those who have attempted to
+make their way, at first, in a large city, at the bar, can well
+understand the disappointment and chagrin of Fenwick on finding that
+he did not rise at once to distinction, as he had fondly imagined he
+would, when he turned his attention, with strong reasons for
+desiring success, to the practice of his profession. A few petty
+cases, the trifling fees of which he rejected as of no
+consideration, were all that he obtained during the first three
+months. At the end of this time he found himself in debt to the
+baker, butcher, milkman, tailor, dry-goods merchants, and to the
+three servants still pertinaciously retained by his wife.--And, as a
+climax to the whole, his father's business was brought to a
+termination by bankruptcy, and the old man, in the decline of life,
+with still a large family dependent upon him for support, thrown
+upon the world, to struggle, almost powerless, for a subsistence.
+Fortunately, the Presidency of an Insurance Company was tendered
+him, with a salary of fifteen hundred dollars per annum. On this he
+could barely support those dependent upon him, leaving Charles the
+whole task of maintaining himself, his wife, and their child.
+
+To be dunned for money was more than the young man could endure with
+any kind of patience. But creditor tradesmen had no nice scruples in
+regard to these matters, and duns came, consequently, thick and
+fast, until poor Charles was irritated beyond measure. Cold, and
+sometimes impatient, and half insulting answers to applications for
+money, were not to be endured by the eager applicants for what was
+justly their own. Warrants soon followed, as a matter of course,
+which had to be answered by a personal appearance before city
+magistrates, thus causing the infliction of a deeper mortification
+than had yet assailed him. Added to these came the importunities of
+his landlord, which was met by a response which was deemed
+insulting, and then came a distraint for rent. The due bill of the
+father, saved the son this utter prostration and disgrace.
+
+The effect of all this, was to drive far away from their dwelling
+the sweet angel of peace and contentment. Fretted and troubled
+deeply in regard to his present condition and future prospects,
+Charles had no smiling words for his wife. This, of course, pained
+her deeply. But she readily found relief from present reality in the
+world of pure romance. The more powerful fictions of the day,
+especially the highly wrought idealities of Bulwer, and those of his
+class, introduced her into a world above that in which she
+dwelt,--and there she lingered the greatest portion of her time,
+unconscious of the calls of duty, or the claims of affection.
+
+A single year sufficed to break them up entirely. Expenses far
+beyond their income, which rose to about three hundred dollars
+during the first year of Charles' practice at the bar, brought
+warrants and executions, which the father had no power to stay. To
+satisfy these, furniture and library had to be sold, and Charles and
+his wife, child and nurse, which latter Adelaide would retain, were
+thrown upon old Mr. Fenwick, for support.
+
+For four years did they remain a burden upon the father, during
+which time, unstimulated to exertion by pressing necessities,
+Charles made but little progress as a lawyer. Petty cases he
+despised, and generally refused to undertake, and those of more
+importance were not trusted to one who had yet to prove himself
+worthy of a high degree of legal confidence. At the end of that time
+both his father and mother were suddenly removed to the world of
+spirits, and he was again thrown entirely upon his own resources.
+
+With no one now to check them in any thing Charles and his wife,
+after calculating the results of the next year's legal efforts, felt
+fully justfied in renting a handsome house, and furnishing it on
+credit. The proceeds of the year's practice rose but little above
+four hundred dollars, and at its conclusion they found themselves
+involved in a new debt of three thousand dollars. Then came another
+breaking up, with all of its harrowing consequences--consequences
+which to persons of their habits and mode of thinking, are so deeply
+mortifying,--followed by their shrinking away, with a meagre remnant
+of their furniture, into a couple of rooms, in an obscure part of
+the town.
+
+"Adelaide," said the husband, one morning, as he roused himself from
+a painful reverie.
+
+"Well, what do you want?" she asked abstractedly, lifting her eyes
+with reluctant air from the pages of a novel.
+
+"I want to talk to you for a little while; so shut your book, if you
+please."
+
+"Won't some other time do as well? I have just got into the middle
+of a most interesting scene."
+
+"No--I wish to talk with you now."
+
+"Well, say on," the wife rejoined, closing the book in her hand,
+with her thumb resting upon the page that still retained her
+thoughts, and assuming an attitude of reluctant attention.
+
+"There is a school vacant at N----, some twenty miles from the city.
+The salary is eight hundred dollars a year, with a house and garden
+included. I can get the situation, if I will accept of it."
+
+"And sink to the condition of a miserable country pedagogue?"
+
+"And support my family comfortably and honestly," Fenwick replied in
+a tone of bitterness.
+
+"Precious little comfort will your family experience immured in an
+obscure country village, without a single congenial associate. What
+in the name of wonder has put that into your head?"
+
+"Adelaide! I cannot succeed at the bar--at least, not for years. Of
+that I am fully satisfied. It is absolutely necessary, therefore,
+that I should turn my attention to something that will supply the
+pressing demands of my family."
+
+"But surely you can get into something better than the office of
+schoolmaster, to the sons of clodpoles."
+
+"Name something."
+
+"I'm sure I cannot tell. That is a matter for you to think about,"
+and so saying, Mrs. Fenwick re-opened her book, and commenced poring
+again over the pages of the delightful work she held in her hand.
+
+Irritated, and half disgusted at this, a severe reproof trembled on
+his tongue, but he suppressed it. In a few minutes after he arose,
+and left the apartment without his wife seeming to notice the
+movement.
+
+"Good morning, Mr. Fenwick!" said a well known individual, coming
+into the lawyer's office a few minutes after he had himself entered.
+
+"That trial comes on this afternoon at four o'clock."
+
+"Well, John, I can't help it. The debt is a just one, but I have no
+means of meeting it now."
+
+"Try, and do so if you can, Mr. Fenwick, for the plaintiff is a good
+deal irritated about the matter, and will push the thing to
+extremities."
+
+"I should be sorry for that. But if so, let him use his own
+pleasure. Take nothing from nothing, and nothing remains."
+
+"You had better come then with security, Mr. Fenwick, for my orders
+are, to have an execution issued against your person, as soon as the
+case is decided."
+
+"You are not in earnest, John?" suddenly ejaculated the lawyer,
+rising to his feet, and looking at the humble minister of the law
+with a pale cheek and quivering lip. "Surely Mr.----is not going to
+push matters to so uncalled-for an extremity!"
+
+"Such, he positively declares, is his fixed determination. So hold
+yourself prepared, sir, to meet even this unpleasant event."
+
+The debt for which the warrant had been issued against Mr. Fenwick,
+amounted to ninety dollars.
+
+The whole of the remaining part of that day was spent in the effort
+to obtain security in the case. But in vain. His friends knew too
+well his inability to protect them from certain loss, should they
+step between him and the law. Talents, education, brilliant
+addresses, fine poetry "and all that," turned to no good and useful
+ends, he found availed him nothing now. Even many of those with whom
+he had been in intimate literary association, shrunk away from the
+penniless individual, and those who did not actually shun him had
+lost much of their former cordiality.
+
+The idea of being sent to jail for debt, was to him a terrible one.
+And he turned from it with a sinking at the heart. He said nothing
+to Adelaide on returning home in the evening, for the high communion
+of spirit, in which they had promised themselves such deep and
+exquisite delight, had long since given place to coldness, and a
+state of non-sympathy. He found her deeply buried, as usual, in some
+volume of romance, while every thing around her was in disorder, and
+full of unmitigated realities. They were living alone in two small
+rooms, and the duty of keeping them in order and providing their
+frugal meals devolved as a heavy task upon Adelaide--so heavy, that
+she found it utterly impossible to do it justice.
+
+The fire--that essential preliminary to household operations--had
+not even been made, when Fenwick reached home, and the dinner table
+remained still on the floor, with its unwashed dishes strewn over
+it, in admirable confusion.
+
+With a sigh, Adelaide resigned her book, soon after her husband came
+in, and commenced preparations for the evening meal. This was soon
+ready, and despatched in silence, except so far as the aimless
+prattle of their little girl interrupted it. Tea over, Mrs. Fenwick
+put Anna to bed, much against her will, and then drew up to the
+table again with her book.
+
+Cheerless and companionless did her husband feel as he let his eye
+fall upon her, buried in selfish enjoyment, while his own heart was
+wrung with the bitterest recollections and the most heart-sickening
+anticipations.
+
+Thoughts of the gaming table passed through his mind, and with the
+thought he placed his hand involuntarily upon his pocket. It was
+empty. Sometimes his mind would rise into a state of vigorous
+activity, with the internal consciousness of a power to do any
+thing. But, alas--it was strength without skill--intellectual power
+without the knowledge to direct it aright.
+
+Late on the next morning he arose from a pillow that had been
+blessed with but little sleep, and that unrefreshing. It was past
+eleven o'clock before Adelaide had breakfast on the table. This
+over, she, without even dressing Anna or arranging her own person
+sat down to her novel, while he gave himself to the most gloomy and
+desponding reflections. He feared to go out lest the first man he
+should meet, should prove an officer with an execution upon his
+person.
+
+About one o'clock, sick and weary of such a comfortless home, he
+went out, glad of any change. Ten steps from his own door, he was
+met by a constable who conveyed him to prison.
+
+Several hours passed before his crushed feelings were aroused
+sufficiently to cause him even to think of any means of extrication.
+When his mind did act, it was with clearness, vigor, and decision.
+The walls of a jail had something too nearly like reality about
+them, to leave much of the false sentiment which had hitherto marred
+his prospects in life. There was, too, something deeply humiliating
+in his condition of an imprisoned debtor.
+
+"What shall I do?" he asked himself, towards the close of the day,
+with a strong resolution to discover the best course of action, and
+to pursue that course, unswayed by any extraneous influences. The
+thought of his wife came across his mind.
+
+"Shall I send her word where I am?"--A pause of some moments
+succeeded this question.
+
+"No," he at length said, half aloud, while an expression of pain
+flitted over his countenance. "It is of little consequence to her
+where I am or what I suffer. She is, I believe, perfectly
+heartless."
+
+But Fenwick was mistaken in this. She needed, as well as himself,
+some powerful shock to awaken her to true consciousness. That shock
+proved to be the knowledge of her husband's imprisonment for debt,
+which she learned early on the next morning, after the passage of an
+anxious and sleepless night, full of strange forebodings of
+approaching evil. She repaired, instantly, to the prison, her heart
+melted down into true feeling. The interview between herself and
+husband was full of tenderness, bringing out from each heart the
+mutual affections which had been sleeping there, alas! too long.
+
+But one right course presented itself to the mind of either of them,
+and that was naturally approved by both, as the only proper one. It
+was for Fenwick to come out of prison under the act of insolvency,
+and thus free himself from the trammels of past obligations, which
+could not possibly be met.
+
+This was soon accomplished, the requisite security for his personal
+appearance to interrogatories being readily obtained.
+
+"And now, Adelaide, what is to be done?" he asked of his wife, as he
+sat holding her hand in his, during the first hour of his release
+from imprisonment. His own mind had already decided--still he was
+anxious for her suggestion, if she had any to make.
+
+"Can you still obtain that school you spoke of?" she asked with much
+interest in her tone.
+
+"Yes. The offer is still open."
+
+"Then take it, Charles, by all means. One such lesson as we have
+had, is enough for a life time. Satisfied am I, now, that we have
+not sought for happiness in the right paths."
+
+The school was accordingly taken, and with humbled feelings, modest
+expectations, and a mutual resolution to be satisfied with little,
+did Charles Fenwick and his wife re-commence the world at the bottom
+of the ladder. That he was sincere in his new formed resolutions, is
+evident from the fact, that in a few years he became the principal
+of a popular literary institution, for which office he was fully
+qualified. She, too, learned, by degrees, to act well her part in
+all her relations, social and domestic--and now finds far more
+pleasure in the realities, than she ever did in the romance of life.
+
+BOTH TO BLAME.
+
+"OF course, both are to blame."
+
+"Of course. You may always set that down as certain when you see two
+persons who have formerly been on good terms fall out with each
+other. For my part, I never take sides in these matters. I listen to
+what both have to say, and make due allowance for the wish of either
+party to make his or her own story appear most favorable."
+
+Thus we heard two persons settling a matter of difference between a
+couple of their friends, and it struck us at the time as not being
+exactly the true way in all cases. In disputes and differences,
+there are no doubt times when both are _equally_ to blame; most
+generally, however, one party is _more_ to blame than the other. And
+it not unfrequently happens that one party to a difference is not at
+all to blame, but merely stands on a just and honorable defensive.
+The following story, which may or may not be from real life, will
+illustrate the latter position.
+
+"Did you hear about Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Tarleton?" said one friend
+to another.
+
+"No; what is the matter?"
+
+"They are up in arms against each other."
+
+"Indeed; it's the first I've heard of it. What is the cause?"
+
+"I can hardly tell; but I know that they don't speak. Mrs. Tarleton
+complains bitterly against Mrs. Bates; and Mrs. Bates, they say, is
+just as bitter against her. For my part, I've come to the conclusion
+that both are to blame."
+
+"There is no doubt of that. I never knew a case of this kind where
+both were not to blame."
+
+"Nor I."
+
+"But don't you know the ground of the difference?"
+
+"They say it is about a head-dress."
+
+"I'll be bound dress has something to do with it," grumbled out Mr.
+Brierly, the husband of one of the ladies, who sat reading a
+newspaper while they were talking.
+
+"My husband is disposed to be a little severe on the ladies at
+times, but you musn't mind him. _I_ never do," remarked Mrs.
+Brierly, half sarcastically, although she looked at her husband with
+a smile as she spoke. "He thinks we care for nothing but dress. I
+tell him it is very well for him and the rest of the world that we
+have some little regard at least to such matters. I am sure if I
+didn't think a good deal about dress, he and the children would soon
+look like scarecrows."
+
+Mr. Brierly responded to this by a "Humph!" and resumed the perusal
+of his newspaper.
+
+"It is said," resumed Mrs. Brierly, who had been asked to state the
+cause of the unhappy difference existing between the two ladies,
+"that Mrs. Bates received from her sister in New York a new and very
+beautiful head-dress, which had been obtained through a friend in
+Paris. Mrs. Tarleton wanted it very badly, and begged Mrs. Bates for
+the pattern; but she refused to let her have it, because a grand
+party was to be given by the Listons in a few weeks, and she wanted
+to show it off there herself. Mrs. Tarleton, however, was not going
+to take 'no' for an answer; she had set her heart upon the
+head-dress and must have it. You know what a persevering woman she
+is when she takes anything into her head. Well, she called in almost
+every day to see Mrs. Bates, and every time she would have something
+to say about the head-dress, and ask to see it. In this way she got
+the pattern of it so perfectly in her mind that she was able to
+direct a milliner how to make her one precisely like it. All unknown
+to Mrs. Bates, Mrs. Tarleton came to the party wearing this new
+style of head-dress, which made her so angry when she discovered it,
+that she insulted Mrs. Tarleton openly, and then retired from the
+company."
+
+"Is it possible!"
+
+"That, I believe, is about the truth of the whole matter. I have
+sifted it pretty closely."
+
+"Well, I declare! I was at the party, but I saw nothing of this. I
+remember Mrs. Tarleton's head-dress, however, very well. It
+certainly was very beautiful, and has become quite fashionable
+since."
+
+"Yes, and is called by some the Tarleton head-dress, from the first
+wearer of it."
+
+"This no doubt galls Mrs. Bates severely. They say she is a vain
+woman."
+
+"It is more than probable that this circumstance has widened the
+breach."
+
+"I must say," remarked the other lady, "that Mrs. Tarleton did not
+act well."
+
+"No, she certainly did not. At the same time, I think Mrs. Bates was
+served perfectly right for her selfish vanity. It wouldn't have hurt
+her at all if there had been two or three head-dresses there of
+exactly the pattern of hers. But extreme vanity always gets
+mortified, and in this case I think justly so."
+
+"Besides, it was very unladylike to insult Mrs. Tarleton in public."
+
+"Yes, or anywhere else. She should have taken no notice of it
+whatever. A true lady, under circumstances of this kind, seems
+perfectly unaware of what has occurred. She shuns, with the utmost
+carefulness, any appearance of an affront at so trivial a matter,
+even if she feels it."
+
+Such was the opinion entertained by the ladies in regard to the
+misunderstanding, as some others called it, that existed between
+Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Tarleton. Both were considered to blame, and
+nearly equally so; but whether the parties really misunderstood
+their own or each other's true position will be seen when the truth
+appears.
+
+Mrs. Bates did receive, as has been stated, a beautiful head-dress
+from a sister in New York, who had obtained it from a friend in
+Paris. The style was quite attractive, though neither unbecoming nor
+showy. Mrs. Bates had her own share of vanity, and wished to appear
+at a large party soon to take place, in this head-dress, where she
+knew it must attract attention. Although a little vain, a fault that
+we can easily excuse in a handsome woman, Mrs. Bates had a high
+sense of justice and right, and possessed all a lady's true delicacy
+of feeling.
+
+The head-dress, after being admired, was laid aside for the occasion
+refrered to. A few days afterwards, Mrs. Tarleton, an acquaintance,
+dropped in.
+
+"I have something beautiful to show you," said Mrs. Bates, after she
+had chatted awhile with her visitor.
+
+"Indeed! What is it?"
+
+"The sweetest head-dress you ever saw. My sister sent it to me from
+New York, and she had it direct from a friend in Paris, where it was
+all the fashion. Mine I believe to be the only one yet received in
+the city, and I mean to wear it at Mrs. Liston's party.
+
+"Do let me see it," said Mrs. Tarleton, all alive with expectation.
+She had an extravagant love of dress, and was an exceedingly vain
+woman.
+
+The head-dress was produced. Mrs. Tarleton lifted her hands and
+eyes.
+
+"The loveliest thing I ever saw! Let me try it on," she said, laying
+off her bonnet and taking the head-dress from the hands of Mrs.
+Bates. "Oh, it is sweet! I never looked so well in anything in my
+life," she continued, viewing herself in the glass. "I wish I could
+beg it from you; but that I havn't the heart to do."
+
+Mrs. Bates smiled and shook her head, but made no reply.
+
+"Here, you put it on, and let me see how you look in it," went on
+Mrs. Tarleton, removing the cap from her own head and placing it
+upon that of her friend. "Beautiful! How well it becomes you! you
+must let me have the pattern. We can wear them together at the
+party. Two will attract more attention than one."
+
+"I am sorry to deny you," replied Mrs. Bates, "but I think I shall
+have to be alone in my glory this time."
+
+"Indeed, you must let me have the pattern, Mrs. Bates. I never saw
+anything in my life that pleased me so much, nor anything in which I
+looked so well. I have been all over town for a head-dress without
+fnding anything I would wear. If you don't let me have one like
+yours, I do not know what I will do. Come now, say yes, that is a
+dear."
+
+But Mrs. Bates said no as gently as she could. It was asking of her
+too much. She had set her heart upon appearing in that head-dress as
+something new and beautiful, and could not consent to share the
+distinction, especially with Mrs. Tarleton, for whom, although a
+friend, she entertained not the highest esteem, and for the reason
+that Mrs. Tarleton had rather a vulgar mind, and lacked a lady's
+true perceptions of propriety.
+
+"Well, I must say you are a selfish woman," returned Mrs. Tarleton,
+good-humoredly, and yet meaning what she said. "It wouldn't do you a
+bit of harm to let me have the pattern, and would gratify me more
+than I can tell."
+
+"I'll tell you what I will do," said Mrs. Bates, to this, with a
+reluctant effort that was readily perceived by her visitor, "I will
+give you the head-dress and let you wear it, as long as you seem to
+have set your heart so upon it."
+
+"Oh no, no; you know I wouldn't do that. But it seems strange that
+you are not willing for us to wear the same head-dress."
+
+The indelicate pertinacity of her visitor annoyed Mrs. Bates very
+much, and she replied to this rather more seriously than she had
+before spoken.
+
+"The fact is, Mrs. Tarleton," she said, "this head-dress is one that
+cannot fail to attract attention. I have several very intimate
+friends, between whom and myself relations of even a closer kind
+exist than have yet existed between you and me. If I give you the
+pattern of this cap and the privilege of wearing it with me for the
+first time it is seen in this city, these friends will have just
+cause to think hard of me for passing them by. This is a reason that
+would inevitably prevent me from meeting your wishes, even if I were
+indifferent about appearing in it myself alone."
+
+"I suppose I must give it up, then," said Mrs. Tarleton, in a
+slightly disappointed tone.
+
+"As I said before," returned Mrs. Bates, "I will defer the matter
+entirely to you. You shall have the head-dress and I will choose
+some other one."
+
+"Oh no; I couldn't think of such a thing," returned Mrs. Tarleton.
+"That is more than I ought to ask or you to give."
+
+"It is the best I can do," Mrs. Bates said, with a quiet smile.
+
+"Sister," said Mrs. Tarleton, on returning home, "you can't imagine
+what a sweet head-dress Mrs. Bates has just received from Paris
+through her sister in New York. It is the most unique and beautiful
+thing I ever saw. I tried hard for the pattern, but the selfish
+creature wouldn't let me have it. She is keeping it for the Liston's
+party, where it will be the admiration of every one."
+
+"What is it like?"
+
+"Oh, I can't begin to describe it. It is altogether novel. I wish
+now I had asked her to let me bring it home to show it to you."
+
+"I wish you had. You must go there again and get it for me."
+
+"I believe I will call in again to-morrow.--Perhaps she will have
+thought better of it by that time, and changed her mind. At any
+rate, if not, I will ask her to let me bring it home and show it to
+you."
+
+This was done. Mrs. Bates did not object to letting Mrs. Tarleton
+take the head-dress and show it to her sister, for she had the
+fullest confidence that she would not do anything with it that she
+knew was against her wishes, which had been clearly expressed.
+
+The sister of Mrs. Tarleton was in raptures with the head-dress.
+
+"It is right down mean and selfish in Mrs. Bates not to let you have
+the pattern," she said. "What a vain woman she must be. I always
+thought better of her."
+
+"So did I. But this shows what she is."
+
+"If I were you," remarked the sister, "I would have it in spite of
+her. It isn't _her_ pattern, that she need pretend hold it so
+exclusively. It is a Paris fashion, and any body else may get it
+just as well as she. She has no property in it."
+
+"No, of course not."
+
+"Then while you have the chance, take it to Madame Pinto and get her
+to make you one exactly like it."
+
+"I have a great mind to do it; it would serve her perfectly right."
+
+"I wouldn't hesitate a moment," urged the sister. "At the last
+party, Mrs. Bates managed to have on something new that attracted
+every one and threw others into the shade, I wouldn't let her have
+another such triumph."
+
+Thus urged by her sister, Mrs. Tarleton yielded to the evil counsel,
+which was seconded by her own heart. The head-dress was taken to
+Madame Pinto, who, after a careful examination of it, said that she
+would make one exactly similar for Mrs. Tarleton. After charging the
+milliner over and over again to keep the matter a profound secret,
+Mrs. Tarleton went away and returned the head-dress to Mrs. Bates.
+It had been in her possession only a couple of hours.
+
+Mrs. Pinto was a fashionable milliner and dress maker, and was
+patronized by the most fashionable people in the city, Mrs. Bates
+among the rest. The latter had called in the aid of this woman in
+the preparation of various little matters of dress to be worn at the
+party. Three or four days after Mrs. Tarleton's visit to Mrs. Pinto
+with the head-dress, Mrs. Bates happened to step in at the
+milliner's, who, during their consultation, about little matters of
+dress, drew the lady aside, saying--"I've got something that I know
+I can venture to show you.--It's for the party, and the loveliest
+thing you ever saw."
+
+As she said this she took from a box a facsimile of Mrs. Bates' own
+beautiful head-dress, and held it up with looks of admiration.
+
+"Isn't it sweet?" she said.
+
+"It is the most beautiful head-dress I ever saw," replied Mrs.
+Bates, concealing her surprise. "Who is it for?"
+
+"It's a secret, but I can tell _you_. It is for Mrs. Tarleton."
+
+"Ah! Where did she get the pattern?"
+
+"I don't know; she brought it here, but said she couldn't leave it
+for the world. I had to study it all out, and then make it from my
+recollection of the pattern."
+
+"The pattern did not belong to her?"
+
+"Oh, no. Somebody had it who was going to show it off at the party,
+she said; but she meant to surprise her."
+
+"Have you any new patterns for head-dresses not chosen by the ladies
+who have made selections of you for Mrs. Liston's party?" asked Mrs.
+Bates, not seeming to notice the reply of Mrs. Pinto.
+
+"Oh, yes, ma'am, a good many," and half-a-dozen really handsome
+head-dresses were shown--none, however, that pleased her half so
+well as the one she was about throwing aside. She suited herself
+from the assortment shown her, and directed it to be sent home.
+
+Mrs. Bates felt justly outraged at the conduct of Mrs. Tarleton, but
+she did not speak of what had taken place, except to one or two very
+intimate friends and to her husband. The evening of the party at
+length arrived. Mrs. Tarleton was there a little earlier than Mrs.
+Bates, in all the glory of her ungenerous triumph. The beautiful
+head-dress she wore attracted every eye, and in the admiration won
+by the display of her taste, she lost all the shame she had felt in
+anticipation of meeting Mrs. Bates, to whom her meanness and
+dishonesty would be at once apparent.
+
+At length she saw this lady enter the parlors by the side of her
+husband, and noticed with surprise that her head-dress was entirely
+different from the one she wore. The truth flashed across her mind.
+Mrs. Pinto had betrayed her secret, and Mrs. Bates, justly outraged
+by what had occurred, had thrown aside her beautiful cap and
+selected another.
+
+Now Mrs. Bates was a woman whom Mrs. Tarleton would be sorry to
+offend seriously, because her position in certain circles was
+undoubted, while her own was a little questionable. The fact that
+Mrs. Bates had declined wearing so beautiful a head-dress because
+she had obtained one of the same pattern by unfair means, made her
+fear that serious offence had been given, and dashed her spirits at
+once. She was not long left in doubt. Before ten minutes had elapsed
+she was thrown into immediate contact with Mrs. Bates, from whom she
+received a polite but cold bow.
+
+Mrs. Tarleton was both hurt and offended at this, and immediately
+after the party, commenced talking about it and mis-stating the
+whole transaction, so as not to appear so much to blame as she
+really was. Mrs. Bates, on the contrary, said little on the subject,
+except to a few very intimate friends, and to those who made free to
+ask her about it, to whom she said, after giving fairly the cause of
+complaint against Mrs. Tarleton--"I spoke to her coldly because I
+wished our more intimate acquaintance to cease. Her conduct was
+unworthy of a lady, and therefore I cannot and will not consider her
+among my friends. No apologies, if she would even make them, could
+change the wrong spirit from which she acted, or make her any more
+worthy of my confidence, esteem or love."
+
+"But you will surely forgive her?" said one.
+
+"The wrong done to me I am ready enough to forgive, for it is but a
+trifling matter; but the violation of confidence and departure from
+a truly honest principle, of which she has been guilty, I cannot
+forgive, for they are not sins against me, but against Heaven's
+first and best laws."
+
+But that did not satisfy some. Persons calling themselves mutual
+friends strove hard to reconcile what they were pleased to call a
+misunderstanding in which "both were to blame." But it availed not.
+To their interference, Mrs. Bates usually replied--"If it will be
+any satisfaction to Mrs. Tarleton to be recognized by me and treated
+kindly and politely in company, I will most cheerfully yield her all
+that; but I cannot feel towards her as heretofore, because I have
+been deceived in her, and find her to be governed by principles that
+I cannot approve. We can never again be on terms of intimacy."
+
+But it was impossible to make some understand the difference between
+acting from principle and wounded pride. The version given by Mrs.
+Tarleton was variously modified as it passed from mouth to mouth,
+until it made Mrs. Bates almost as much to blame as herself, and
+finally, as the coldness continued until all intercourse at last
+ceased, it was pretty generally conceded, except by a very few, that
+"both were about equally to blame."
+
+The reader can now make up his own mind on the subject from what has
+been related. For our part, we do not think Mrs. Bates at all to
+blame in at once withdrawing herself from intimate association with
+such a woman as Mrs. Tarleton showed herself to be, and we consider
+that a false charity which would seek to interfere with or set aside
+the honest indignation that should always be felt in similar cases
+of open betrayal of confidence and violation of honest and honorable
+principles.
+
+We have chosen a very simple and commonplace incident upon which to
+"hang a moral."--But it is in the ordinary pursuits of business and
+pleasure where the true character is most prone to exhibit itself,
+and we must go there if we would read the book of human life aright.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS.
+
+
+
+
+
+"WAS N'T that young Sanford?" asked Mrs. Larkin of her husband, as
+the two stood at a window of their dwelling one Sunday afternoon,
+noticing the passers by. The individual she alluded to was a young
+man who had ridden gaily along on a spirited horse.
+
+"Yes," was the reply.
+
+"He rides past here almost every Sunday afternoon, and often in
+company with Harriet Meadows. He is quite a dashing young fellow."
+
+"He is dashing far beyond his ostensible means. I wonder at Millard
+for keeping him in his store. I would soon cast adrift any one of my
+clerks who kept a fast horse, and sported about with the gay
+extravagance that Sanford does. His salary does not, I am sure, meet
+half his expenses. I have heard some of my young men speak of his
+habits. They say money with him is no consideration. He spends it as
+freely as water."
+
+"Strange that his employer does not see this!"
+
+"It is. But Millard is too unsuspicious, and too ignorant of what is
+going on out of the narrow business circle. He is like a horse in a
+mill. He sees nothing outside of a certain limit. He gets up in the
+morning, dresses himself, goes to his store, and then devotes
+himself to business until dinner time. Then he goes home and dines.
+After this he comes back to his store and stays until night. His
+evenings are either spent in reading or dozing at home, or with a
+neighbor at checkers. On Sunday morning he goes to church, in the
+afternoon he sleeps to kill time, and in the evening retires at
+eight, unless a friend steps in, to sleep away the tedious hours. Of
+the habits of his clerks, when out of his store, he knows as little
+as the man in the moon."
+
+"But some one ought to give him a hint."
+
+"It would be a charity."
+
+"Why do n't you do it?"
+
+"Me! Oh, it's none of my business. Let Millard look after his own
+affairs. I 'm not going to get myself into trouble by meddling with
+things that do n't concern me. It is his place to see into the
+habits of his clerks. If he neglects to do so, he deserves to be
+cheated by them."
+
+"I do n't know. It seems to me that it would be no more than right
+to give him a hint, and put him on his guard."
+
+"It would be a good turn, no doubt. But I'm not going to do it. It's
+no affair of mine."
+
+"I do n't think he is fit company for Harriet Meadows," said Mrs.
+Larkin, after a pause.
+
+"Nor I," returned her husband. "I should be very sorry to see our
+Jane riding with him, or indeed, associating with him in any way.
+Surely Harriet's father and mother cannot know that their daughter
+rides out with him almost every Sunday afternoon."
+
+"Of course not. They are religious people and would think it a sin
+for her to do so. I am surprised that Harriet should act in such
+direct violation of what she knows to be their real sentiments."
+
+"Some one ought to give them a hint upon the subject."
+
+"I think so. If it were my child I would take it as a great favor
+indeed."
+
+"Yes, so would I. Suppose, Ellen, you drop a word in Mrs. Meadows'
+ear."
+
+"Me!" with a look and tone of surprise. "Oh no, I never interfere in
+other people's business. Every one ought to look after his or her
+own concerns. I hate your meddlesome folks. I 'll take good care
+that my own child do n't form such associations. Let every body else
+do the same. The fact is, parents are too careless about where their
+children go, and what kind of company they keep."
+
+"That's very true. Still I think no harm could come of your just
+giving Mrs. Meadows a hint."
+
+"Oh, no indeed! It's none of my business."
+
+"Well, just as you like," returned Mr. Larkin, indifferently. "Let
+every one see that his own stable door is locked before the horse is
+stolen."
+
+Mr. Millard, who was in the same line of business with Larkin, was
+just the plodding, unobserving, unsuspicious person that the latter
+had described him. Sanford was an intelligent clerk and an active
+salesman. These were valuable qualities, for which he was
+appreciated by his employer. As to what he did or where he went
+after business hours, Millard never thought. He, doubtless, on the
+supposition of the merchant, went into good company, and acted with
+the same prudence that had governed himself under similar
+circumstances. But in this he was mistaken. The young man's habits
+were bad, and his associates often of a vicious character. Bad
+habits and bad associates always involve the spending of money
+freely. This consequence naturally occurred in the case of Sanford.
+To supply his wants his salary proved insufficient. These wants were
+like the horse-leech, and cried continually--" give, give." They
+could not be put off. The first recourse was that of borrowing, in
+anticipation of his quarterly receipt of salary, after his last
+payment was exhausted. It was not long before, under this system,
+his entire quarterly receipt had to be paid away to balance his
+borrowed money account, thus leaving him nothing to meet his
+increasing wants for the next three months. By borrowing again from
+some friends immediately, and curtailing his expenses down to the
+range of his income, he was able to get along for two or three
+quarters. But, of course, he was always behind hand just the amount
+of three months' salary. At length, as new wants pressed upon him,
+he was tempted to exceed in his borrowed money account the sum
+received as his quarterly dues. This made it impossible for him to
+pay off, when he received his instalments of salary, the whole
+amount of borrowed money, and caused him to cast about for some new
+resource. In balancing the cash account one day,--he had charge of
+this,--he found that there was an error of one hundred dollars in
+favor of cash--that is, there were on hand one hundred dollars more
+than was called for by the account. He went over the account again
+and again, but could not discover the error. For more than an hour
+he examined the various entries and additions, but with no better
+success. At last, however, a little to his disappointment, for he
+had already began to think of quietly appropriating the surplus, he
+found the error to consist in the carriage of tens--four instead of
+five having been carried to the third or column of hundreds on one
+of the pages of the cash book, thus making the amount called for in
+the book one hundred dollars less than the real sum on hand.
+
+For some time after this discovery, Sanford sat at his desk in a
+state of abstraction and irresolution. He was vexed that the error
+had been found out, for he had already nearly made up his mind to
+keep the overplus and say nothing about it. He did not attempt to
+change the erroneous figure.--Why should it not remain so?--he at
+length asked himself. If it had cost him so much time and labor to
+find it out, it was not probable that any one else would detect it.
+Indeed, no one but himself and Mr. Millard had any thing to do with
+the general cash account of the establishment, and he knew very well
+that the latter did not examine it with a very close scrutiny.
+Finally, pressing demands for money determined him to put the
+surplus into his pocket, at least for the present. He did so, and in
+that act let into his mind a flood of evil counsellors, whose
+arguments, enforced by his own cupidities, could at any time
+afterwards have sufficient control to guide him almost at will. With
+this sum of one hundred dollars, he paid off a portion of what he
+owed, and retained the rest to meet the demands that would be made
+upon him before the arrival of the next quarter day. It was a rule
+with Millard to pay off his clerks only in quarterly instalments. No
+other payments were allowed them.
+
+It was not long before a deliberate false entry was made, by which
+another hundred dollars passed into Sanford's pockets. With this
+increase of income came a freer expenditure. Hitherto he had been in
+the habit of riding out on Sundays on hired horses; but now he was
+inspired with a wish to own a horse himself. A beautiful animal just
+at this time came under his eye. It was offered at one hundred and
+fifty dollars. The owner, knowing Sanford's fondness for a gay,
+fast-going horse, urged him to buy.
+
+The temptation was very strong. He looked at the animal again and
+again, rode him out, talked about him, until, finally, the desire to
+own him became almost irresistible. He had not twenty dollars,
+however, and it would be two months before his salary came due,
+which at any rate was all wanted for current expenses. The cash book
+was looked at for a week or ten days before he could make up his
+mind to pen another false entry. At last, however, he picked up the
+courage to do so. The horse was purchased, and for a few days the
+thought of possessing so noble an animal was very pleasant.
+
+On the third day after this act of dishonesty, Mr. Millard, who had
+been looking over the cash book, discovered the erroneous figures.
+
+"Look here, Sanford," said he, "you have made a mistake here. This
+figure should be nine instead of eight, and this five instead of
+four."
+
+The young man's heart gave a quick throb, but he controlled himself
+by a strong effort.
+
+"Where?" he asked, quickly, coming at once to Mr. Millard, and
+looking over the cash-book.
+
+"Here--just add up these two columns."
+
+Sanford added them up, and then said--
+
+"Yes, that's a fact. I'm glad you have found it out. The cash has
+been over about two hundred dollars for several days, and I have
+tried in vain to find where the error lay. Strange, after adding up
+these columns for some twenty times or more, I should have still
+been wrong in these figures. Let me strike a balance for you now, so
+that you can count the cash, and see that there is just this amount
+over."
+
+This dispelled all suspicions from the mind of Millard, if any had
+found a place there.
+
+"No," he replied, "I hav n't time now. I have no doubt of it being
+right. Make the corrections required."
+
+And as he thus remarked, he turned away from the desk.
+
+Sanford trembled from head to foot the moment his employer left him.
+He tried to make the corrections, but his hand shook so that he
+could not hold the pen. In a little while he mastered this agitation
+so far as to be externally composed. He then changed the erroneous
+figures. But this did not make the matter straight. The cash account
+now called for two hundred dollars more than the funds on hand would
+show. If the money should be counted before he could make other
+false entries, he would be discovered and disgraced. And now that
+errors had been discovered, it was but natural to suppose that Mr.
+Millard would glance less casually at the account than he had been
+in the habit of doing. At last, he determined to erase a few pages
+back certain figures, and insert others in their places, and carry
+down from thence the error by a regular series of erasures and new
+entries. This he did so skilfully, that none but the eye of
+suspicion could have detected it. It was some weeks before he again
+ventured to repeat these acts. When he did so, he permitted the
+surplus cash to remain in the drawer for eight or ten days, so that
+if a discovery happened to be made, the balance on hand would show
+that it was an error. But Mr. Millard thought no more about the
+matter, and the dishonest clerk was permitted to prosecute his base
+conduct undetected. In this way month after month passed, until the
+defalcation rose to over a thousand dollars. Nightly Sanford
+attended places of public amusement, usually accompanied by a young
+lady, the daughter of some respectable citizen, who knew as little
+of the habits and character of the young man as did his employer
+himself. Among those with whom he had become intimate was Harriet
+Meadows, the daughter of a merchant possessing a high sense of honor
+and considerable wealth. Mr. Meadows, so soon as the young man began
+to visit at his house, gave him to understand by his manner that he
+was not welcome. This was so plainly done that there was no room for
+mistake in the matter. Piqued at this, Sanford determined that he
+would keep the daughter's company in spite of her crusty old father.
+Harriet was gay and thoughtless, and had been flattered by the
+attentions of Sanford. She met him a few times after his repulse, at
+balls, and hesitated not to dance with him. These meetings afforded
+full opportunity for the young man to push himself still farther
+into her good opinion, and to prevail upon her at length to meet him
+clandestinely, which she frequently did on Sunday afternoons, when,
+as has already been seen, she would ride out in his company. This
+kind of intimacy soon led to a declaration of love on the part of
+Sanford, which was fully responded to by the foolish girl. The
+former had much, he thought, to hope for in in a union with Miss
+Meadows. Her father was well off, and in a very excellent business.
+His fortune would be made if he could rise to the position of his
+son-in-law. He did not hope to do this by a fair and open offer for
+Harriet's hand. The character of Meadows, which was decided,
+precluded all hope of gaining his consent after he had once frowned
+upon his approaches. The only road to success was a secret marriage,
+and to that he was gradually inclining the mind of the daughter at
+the time our story opened.
+
+It is not always that a villain remains such alone. He generally, by
+a kind of intuition, perceives who are like him in interiors, and he
+associates with these on the principle that birds of a feather flock
+together. He was particularly intimate with one of Larkin's clerks,
+a young man named Hatfield, who had no higher views of life than
+himself, and who was governed by no sounder principles. Hatfield
+found it necessary to be more guarded than Sanford, from the fact
+that his employer was gifted with much closer observation than was
+Millard. He, too, rode a fast trotting horse on Sunday, but he knew
+pretty well the round taken by Larkin on that day, and the hours
+when he attended church, and was very careful never to meet him. At
+some place of public resort, a few miles from the city, he would
+join Sanford, and together they would spend the afternoon.
+
+On Jane Larkin, his employer's only daughter, Hatfield had for some
+time looked with a favourable eye. But he felt very certain that
+neither her father nor mother would favor his addresses.
+Occasionally, with her parents' knowledge, he would attend her to
+places of public amusement. But both himself and the young lady saw
+that even this was not a thing that fully met their approbation.
+Hatfield would, on such occasions, ingeniously allude to this fact,
+and thus gather from Jane how she regarded their coldness. It was
+not agreeable to her, he quickly perceived. This encouraged him to
+push matters further.
+
+Soon the two understood each other fully, and soon after the tacit
+opposition of the parents to their intimacy was a matter of
+conversation between them, whenever they could get an opportunity of
+talking together without awakening suspicion.
+
+Harriet Meadows and Jane Larkin were particular friends, and soon
+became confidants. They were both quite young, and, we need not say,
+weak and thoughtless. Sanford and Hatfield, as the reader has seen,
+were also intimate. In a short time after the latter had made up
+their minds to secure the hands of these two young ladies, if
+possible, there was a mutual confession of the fact. This was
+followed by the putting of their heads together for the contrivance
+of such plans as would best lead to the effectuation of the end each
+had proposed to himself. It is a curious fact, that on the very
+Sunday afternoon on which we have seen Mr. and Mrs. Larkin
+conversing about the danger and impropriety of Harriet Meadows
+keeping company with a man like Sanford, their own daughter was
+actually riding out with Hatfield. In this ride they passed the
+residence of Mr. Meadows, who, in turn, commented upon the fact with
+some severity of censure towards Mr. Larkin and his wife for not
+looking more carefully after their only child.
+
+"They certainly cannot know it," finally remarked Mr. Meadows.
+
+"No, I should think not. It would be a real charity for some one
+just to mention it to them."
+
+"It certainly would."
+
+"Suppose you speak to Mr. Larkin about it," said Mrs. Meadows.
+
+"Me? Oh no!" was the reply. "It is none of my business. I never
+meddle with family affairs. It is their duty to look after their
+daughter. If they don't, and she rides about with Tom, Dick and
+Harry on Sundays, they have no one to blame but themselves for the
+consequences."
+
+Thus their responsibility in the affair was dismissed. It was no
+business of theirs.
+
+In the mean time the two clerks were laying their plans for carrying
+off the young ladies, and marrying them secretly.
+
+"Have you sounded Jane on this subject?" asked Sanford of his friend
+one evening, when the matter had come up for serious discussion.
+
+"I have."
+
+"How does she stand?"
+
+"I think there is no doubt of her. But how is Harriet?"
+
+"All right. That point we settled last night. She is ready to go at
+any time that Jane is willing to take a similar step. She would
+rather not go all alone."
+
+"If she will only second me in urging the absolute necessity of the
+thing upon Jane, there can be no doubt of the result. And she will
+do that of course."
+
+"Oh yes--all her influence can be calculated upon. But how do you
+think Larkin will stand affected after all is over?"
+
+"It's hard to tell. At first he will be as mad as a March hare. But
+Jane is his only child, and he loves her too well to cast her off.
+All will settle down quietly after a few weeks' ebullition and I
+shall be as cosily fixed in the family as I could wish. After that,
+my fortune is made. Larkin is worth, to my certain knowledge, fifty
+or sixty thousand dollars, every cent of which will in the end come
+into my hands. And, besides, Larkin's son-in-law will have to be set
+up in business. Give me a fair chance, and I'll turn a bright penny
+for myself."
+
+"How are you off for funds at this present time?"
+
+"Low, very low. The old fellow don't pay me half a salary. I'm in
+debt three or four hundred dollars, and dunned almost to death
+whenever I am in the way of duns. All the people I owe know better
+than to send their bills to the store, for if they were to do so,
+and by thus exposing me cause me to lose my situation, they are well
+aware that they might have to whistle for their money."
+
+"Can't you make a raise some how? We must both have money to carry
+out this matter. In the first place, we must go off a hundred or two
+miles and spend a week. After we return we may have to board for
+weeks at pretty high charges before a reconciliation can be brought
+about. During this time you will be out of a situation, for old
+Larkin won't take you back into the store until the matter is made
+up. You ought at least to have a couple of hundred dollars."
+
+"And I have n't twenty."
+
+"Bad, very bad. But don't you think you could borrow a couple of
+hundred from Larkin, and pay him back after you become his
+son-in-law?"
+
+"Borrow from Larkin! Goodness! He'd clear me out in less than no
+time, if I were to ask him to loan me even fifty dollars."
+
+"No, but you don't understand me," remarked Sanford after a
+thoughtful pause. "Can 't you borrow it without his knowledge, I
+mean? No harm meant of course. You intend borrowing his daughter,
+you know, for a little while, until he consents to give her to you."
+
+Hatfield looked into the face of his tempter with a bewildered air
+for some moments. He did not yet fully comprehend his drift.
+
+"How am I to borrow without his knowing it? Figure me that out if
+you please," he said.
+
+"Who keeps the cash?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"Ah! so far so good. You keep the cash. Very well. Now is n't it
+within the bounds of possibility for you to possess yourself of a
+couple of hundred dollars in such a way that the deficit need not
+appear? If you can, it will be the easiest thing in the world, after
+you come back, and get the handling of a little more money in your
+right than has heretofore been the case, to return the little loan."
+
+"But suppose it possible for me thus to get possession of two
+hundred dollars, and suppose I do not get back safely after our
+adventure, and do not have the handling of more money in my own
+right--what then?"
+
+"You'll only be supporting his daughter out of his own money--that
+is all."
+
+"Humph! Quite a casuist."
+
+"But is n't there reason in it?"
+
+"I do n't know. I am not exactly in a state to see reasons clearly
+just now."
+
+"You can see the necessity of having a couple of hundred dollars, I
+suppose?"
+
+"Oh yes--as clear as mud."
+
+"You must have that sum at least, or to proceed will be the height
+of folly."
+
+"I can see that too."
+
+"It is owing to Larkin's mean pride that you are driven to this
+extremity. He ought to pay for it."
+
+"But how am I to get hold of two hundred dollars? That's the
+question."
+
+"Is there ordinarily much cash on hand?"
+
+"Yes. We deposit some days as high as ten thousand dollars;
+particularly at this season, when a good many merchants are in."
+
+"The chance is fair enough. Two hundred won't be missed."
+
+"No, not until the cash is settled, and then it will come to light."
+
+"That does n't follow."
+
+"I think it does."
+
+"You may prevent it."
+
+"How?"
+
+"Miss a couple of tens in your additions on the debit side of the
+cash book. Do you understand?"
+
+"Not clearly."
+
+"You are dull. Change a figure in footing up your cash book, so that
+it will balance, notwithstanding a deficit of two hundred dollars.
+After you come back, this can be set right again. No one will think
+of adding up the back columns to see if there is any fraud."
+
+"After Sanford ceased speaking, his friend cast his eyes to the
+floor, and reflected for some time. There was in his mind a powerful
+struggle between right and wrong. When the plan was first presented,
+he felt an inward shrinking from it. It involved an act of fraud,
+that, if found out, would blast his character. But the longer he
+reflected, and the more fully he looked in the face of the fact that
+without money he could not proceed to the consummation of his
+wishes, the more favorable the plan seemed.
+
+"But," he said, lifting his eyes and drawing a long breath, "if it
+should be found out?"
+
+"Larkin will not expose his son-in-law for his daughter's sake."
+
+"True--there is something there to hope for. Well, I will think of
+it. I must have two hundred dollars from some source."
+
+And he did think of it to evil purpose. He found no very great
+difficulty in getting Jane to consent to run away with him,
+especially as her particular friend, Harriet Meadows, was to
+accompany her on a like mad-cap expedition with Sanford.
+
+Nothing occurred to prevent the acts proposed. By false entries,
+Hatfield was enabled to abstract two hundred dollars in a way that
+promised a perfect concealment of the fraud, although in doing it he
+felt much reluctance and many compunctions of conscience.
+
+About ten days after the conversation between the young men, just
+given, Jane Larkin obtained her mother's consent to spend a few days
+with a cousin who resided some miles from the city on a road along
+which one of the omnibus lines passed. Harriet Meadows did not use
+this precaution to elude suspicion. She left her father's house at
+the time agreed upon, and joined young Sanford at an appointed
+place, where a carriage was waiting, into which Hatfield and Jane
+had already entered. The two couples then proceeded to the house of
+an alderman, who united them in marriage bonds. From thence they
+drove to a railroad depot, took passage for a neighboring city, and
+were soon gliding away, a suspicion unawakened in the minds of the
+young ladies' friends.
+
+The absence of Harriet on the night following alarmed the fears and
+awakened the suspicions of her father and mother. Early on the next
+day, Mr. Meadows learned that his daughter had been seen entering
+the----cars in company with young Sanford. Calling upon Millard, he
+ascertained that Sanford had not been to the store on the previous
+day, and was still absent. To merge suspicion and doubt into
+certainty, the alderman who had married the couples was met
+accidentally. He testified to the fact of his having united them.
+Sick at heart, Mr. Meadows returned home to communicate the sad
+intelligence to the mother of Harriet. When he again went out, he
+was met by the startling rumor that a defalcation had been
+discovered on the part of young Sanford to a large amount. Hurrying
+to the store of Mr. Millard, he was shocked to find that the rumor
+was but, alas! too true. Already false entries in the cash book had
+been discovered to the amount of at least five thousand dollars. An
+officer, he also learned, had been despatched to----, for the
+purpose of arresting the dishonest clerk and bringing him back to
+justice.
+
+"Quite an affair this," remarked Larkin to an acquaintance whom he
+met some time during the day, in a half-serious, half-indifferent
+tone.
+
+"About Meadows' daughter and Sanford? Yes, and rather a melancholy
+affair. The worst part of it is, that the foolish young man has been
+embezzling the money of his employer."
+
+"Yes, that is very bad. But Millard might have known that Sanford
+could not dash about and spend money as he did upon his salary
+alone."
+
+"I do n't suppose he knew any thing about his habits. He is an
+unsuspicious man, and keeps himself quietly at home when not in his
+store."
+
+"Well, I did then. I saw exactly how he was going on, and could have
+told him; but it wasn't any of my business."
+
+"I do n't care so much for Millard or his clerk as I do for the
+foolish girl and her parents. Her happiness is gone and theirs with
+it."
+
+"Ah, yes--that is the worst part. But they might have known that
+something of the kind would take place. They were together a good
+deal, and were frequently to be seen riding out on Sunday
+afternoons."
+
+"This was not with the knowledge of her parents, I am sure."
+
+"I do n't suppose it was. Still they should have looked more
+carefully after their child. I knew it and could have told them how
+things were going--but it was n't any of my business. I always keep
+myself clear from these matters."
+
+Just at this moment a third person came up. He looked serious.
+
+"Mr. Larkin," he said, "I have just heard that your daughter and
+Hatfield, your clerk, were married at the same time that Sanford
+was, and went off with that young man and his bride. Alderman----,
+it is said, united them."
+
+Larkin turned instantly pale. Hatfield had been away since the
+morning of the day before, and his daughter was not at home, having
+asked the privilege of going to see a cousin who resided a few miles
+from the city. A call upon Alderman----confirmed the afflicting
+intelligence. The father returned home to communicate the news to
+his wife, on whom it fell with such a shock that she became quite
+ill.
+
+"He might have known that something of this kind would have
+happened," remarked the person who had communicated the
+intelligence, as soon as Larkin had left. "No man who does n't wish
+his daughters to marry his clerks, ought to let them go to balls and
+concerts together, and ride out when they please on Sunday
+afternoons."
+
+"Did Larkin permit this with Jane and Hatfield?"
+
+"They were often thus together whether he permitted it or not."
+
+"He could n't have known it."
+
+"Perhaps not. I could have given him a hint on the subject, if I had
+chosen--but it was none of my business."
+
+On the next day all the parties came home--Sanford compulsorily, in
+the hands of an officer; Hatfield voluntarily, and in terrible
+alarm. The two brides were of course included. Sanford soon after
+left the city, and has not since been heard of. His crime was
+"breach of trust!" As for Hatfield, he was received on the principle
+that, in such matters, the least said the soonest mended. In the
+course of a few months he was able to restore the two hundred
+dollars he had abstracted. After this was done he felt easier in
+mind. He did not, however, make the foolish creature he had married
+happy. Externally, or to the world, they seem united, but internally
+they are not conjoined. Too plainly is this apparent to the father
+and mother, who have many a heart-ache for their dearly loved child.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE MOTHER'S PROMISE.
+
+
+
+
+
+A LADY, handsomely dressed, was about leaving her house to make a
+few calls, when a little boy ran out from the nursery, and clasping
+one of her gloved hands in both of his, looked up into her face with
+a glance of winning entreaty, saying, as he did so:
+
+"Mamma! dear mamma! Won't you buy me a picture-book, just like
+cousin Edie's?"
+
+"Yes, love," was the unhesitating reply; and the lady stooped to
+kiss the sweet lips of her child.
+
+"Eddy must be a good boy, and mind nurse while mamma is away," she
+added.
+
+"I'll be so good," replied Eddy, with all the earnestness of a
+childish purpose. "You may ask nurse when you come home, if I have
+not been the goodest little boy that ever was."
+
+Mrs. Herbert kissed her darling boy again, and then went forth to
+make her morning round of calls. Eddy returned to the nursery,
+strong in his purpose, to be a good boy, as he had promised.
+
+"Such a dear little picture-book as mamma is going to bring me
+home," he said to nurse, as he leaned his arms against her, and
+looked up into her face. "Oh! won't I be so glad. It's to be just
+like cousin Edie's. Mamma said so; and cousin Edie's book is so
+beautiful. I 've wanted one ever since I was there. Is'nt mamma
+good?"
+
+"Yes, Eddy," replied the nurse, "your mamma is very good; and you
+should love her so much, and do everything she tells you to do."
+
+"I do love her," said the child. "Oh, I love her more than all the
+world; and I'm going to mind every thing she says."
+
+Then the child went to his play, and was happy with his toys. But
+his thoughts were on the picture-book, and pleasantly his young
+imagination lingered amid its attractive pages.
+
+"Is'nt it 'most time for mother to be home?" he asked, at the end of
+half an hour, coming to the side of his nurse, and gazing up into
+her face.
+
+"Why no, child," replied the nurse, "not for a long while yet."
+
+Eddy looked disappointed. But that instant the door bell rung.
+
+"There's mamma!" exclaimed the child, clapping his hands; and before
+nurse could restrain him, he had bounded from the room, and his
+little feet were heard pattering down the stairs. Slowly he came
+back, after a little while, and with a look of disappointment on his
+sweet young face, entered the nursery, saying, as he did so:
+
+"It was only a man with brooms to sell."
+
+"Your mamma won't be home for a long time yet, Eddy," said his
+nurse, "so it is of no use for you to expect her. Go and build block
+houses again."
+
+"I'm tired of block houses," replied the little boy, "and now that
+mamma has promised me a picture-book like cousin Edie's I can't
+think of anything else."
+
+"Oh, well," said nurse, a little impatiently, "she'll be home in
+good time. Try and not think of the book. It won't do any good--it
+won't bring her home a minute sooner."
+
+"I can't help thinking of it," persisted the child, in whom the
+imaginative faculty was unusually, strong for one of his age.
+
+In a little while, however, something occurred to interest him, and
+a full hour elapsed before he again recurred to his mother and the
+expected picture book. As best she could, his nurse diverted his
+mind, and kept him, in a measure, occupied with what was around him.
+At length it was full time for Mrs. Herbert to return. Eddy had
+ceased to find interest in anything appertaining to the nursery. He
+went down into the parlor, and seating himself at the window,
+watched, with childish eagerness, for the form of his mother.
+
+Strange as it may seem to the reader, Mrs. Herbert had scarcely
+passed into the street, ere her promise was forgotten. Not that she
+was indifferent to the happiness of her child--not that she was a
+heartless mother. Far very far from this. Purely and truly did she
+love this sweet boy. But, so much were her thoughts interested in
+other things, that she did not, at the time, comprehend the
+earnestness of his childish wishes; nor think of her promise as a
+sacred thing. The request for a picture book seemed to her but the
+expression of a sudden thought, that passed from his mind as soon as
+uttered. And yet, she had not promised without intending to meet the
+wishes of her child, for she was an indulgent mother, and rarely
+said "No," to any request that might reasonably be gratified. She
+had noticed Cousin Edie's pretty book, and thought that she would,
+some time or other, get one like it for Eddy. The child's request
+but seconded this thought. There was will, therefore, in her
+promise. She meant to do as she had said.
+
+But things of more interest to Mrs. Herbert, than the simple wish of
+a child, so fully occupied her mind from the time she left her own
+door, that she never again thought of the book, until she saw Eddy's
+dear face at the window. It was serious, and slightly impatient, as
+if he were wearied with watching and waiting; but the moment his
+eyes rested upon her form, his whole countenance brightened, as
+though lit up by a sunbeam. Almost as soon as Mrs. Herbert's hand
+touched the bell, the street door was thrown open, and the glad
+child stood, like a rebuking spirit, before her.
+
+"Where's my book, mamma? Give me my book, mamma! Oh, I'm so glad
+you've come!"
+
+Now, the first conviction of wrong, often has an irritating effect
+upon the mind, obscuring its perceptions, and leading, sometimes, to
+the impulsive commission of greater wrongs. It was so in the present
+case. The happy countenance of her child did not bring joy to the
+mother's heart; for she knew that with a word, she must dash to the
+ground all his buoyant anticipations. And she remembered, too, at
+the moment, how poorly he could bear disappointment.
+
+"Eddy, dear," said Mrs. Herbert, taking her little boy by the hand,
+and advancing toward the parlor door with him, "Eddy, dear, let me
+tell you something."
+
+Her grave tone and look caused a shiver to pass inward toward the
+heart of the child. He understood, but too well, that the mother,
+whose word he had trusted so implicitly, had been faithless to her
+promise.
+
+Poor child! even this advancing shadow of a coming disappointment,
+darkened his young face and filled his eyes with tears.
+
+Mrs. Herbert sat down on the nearest chair, as she entered the
+parlor, and drew Eddy to her side. She saw, from his sad face, that
+words were not required to make him aware that the promised book was
+not in her possession; and she knew, from former experience, that
+trouble was before her. Unhappily, she did not feel softened, but
+rather irritated, toward the child.
+
+"Eddy," she said firmly, yet with as much tenderness as she could
+assume, "Eddy, you know you promised me to be such a good boy."
+
+"And I have been good," eagerly answered the little fellow, lifting
+his swimming eyes to her face, "you may ask nurse if I havn't been
+good all the time."
+
+"I'm sure you have," said Mrs. Herbert, touched by the manner of her
+child; "and yet, Eddy, I have not brought your book."
+
+The tears, which had been ready to start, now gushed over his face,
+and a low cry pained the mother's ears.
+
+"Eddy," said she, seriously, "let me tell you about it. You must
+listen to reason."
+
+Reason! poor, disappointed little one! He had no ear for the
+comprehension of reasons.
+
+"Now, Eddy! I can't have this!" Mrs. Herbert spoke firmly, for
+already the child was weeping bitterly. "Crying will do no good. I
+promised you the book, and you shall have it. I had no opportunity
+to get it this morning. Come now! you must stop at once, or I----"
+
+Mrs. Herbert did not utter the threat which came to her lips; for
+her mind shrunk from the thought of punishing her child, especially
+as his fault was a consequence of her own actions. But, as he
+continued to cry on, and in a louder voice, she not only began to
+feel excessively annoyed, but deemed it her duty to compel a
+cessation of what could do no possible good, but rather harm.
+
+"Eddy, you must stop this crying!" Firmness had changed to
+sternness.
+
+The words might as well not have been spoken.
+
+"Then you are not going to stop!" The tones were angry now; and, as
+Mrs. Herbert uttered them, she caught the arm of her child with a
+tight grip.
+
+At this moment, the sound of the latch-key was heard in the street
+door. It was dinner time, and Mr. Herbert entered.
+
+"Bless us! what's the trouble here?" the father of Eddy exclaimed,
+good-naturedly, as he presented himself in the parlor.
+
+"The trouble is," said Mrs. Herbert, in a fretful voice, "that I
+promised to buy him a book, and forgot all about it."
+
+"Oho! Is that all?" Mr. Herbert spoke cheerfully. "This trouble can
+soon be healed. Come, dear, and let us see what I can do for you."
+
+And Mr. Herbert drew forth a small, square packet, and began untying
+the string, with which it was bound. Eddy ceased crying in an
+instant, while a rainbow light shone through his tears. Soon a book
+came to view. It was _the_ book. Singularly enough, Mr. Herbert had,
+that morning, observed it in a store, and thinking it would please
+his child, had bought it for him.
+
+"Will that do?" he said, handing the book to Eddy.
+
+What a gush of gladness came to the child's face. A moment or two he
+stood, like one bewildered, and then throwing his arms around his
+father's neck and hugging him tightly, he said, in the fullness of
+his heart,
+
+"Oh! you are a dear good papa! I do love you so much!"
+
+Ere the arms of Eddy were unclasped from his father's neck, Mrs.
+Herbert had left the room. When, on the ringing of the dinner bell,
+she joined her husband and child at the table, her countenance wore
+a sober aspect, and there were signs of tears about her eyes. What
+her thoughts had been, every true mother can better imagine than we
+describe. That they were salutary, may be inferred from the fact
+that no promise, not even the lightest, was ever afterwards made to
+her child, which was not righteously kept to the very letter.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE TWO HUSBANDS.
+
+
+
+
+
+"Jane, how _can_ you tolerate that dull, spiritless creature? I
+never sat by his side for five minutes, without getting sleepy."
+
+"He does not seem so very dull to me, Cara," replied her companion.
+
+"It is a true saying, that there never was a Jack without a Jill;
+but I could not have believed that my friend Jane Emory would have
+been willing to be the Jill to such a Jack."
+
+A slight change was perceptible in the countenance of Jane Emory,
+and for a moment the color deepened on her cheek. But when she spoke
+in reply to her friend's remark, no indication that she felt its
+cutting import, was perceptible.
+
+"I am convinced, from close observation of Walter Gray," said Jane,
+"that he has in his character that which should ever protect him
+from jest or ridicule."
+
+"And what is that, my lady Jane?"
+
+"Right thoughts and sound principles."
+
+"Fiddle stick!"
+
+These should not only be respected, but honored wherever found,"
+said Jane, gravely.
+
+"In a bear or a boor!" Cara responded, in a tone of irony.
+
+"My friend Cara is ungenerous in her allusions. Surely, she will not
+assert that Walter Gray is a bear or a boor?"
+
+"He is boorish enough, at any rate."
+
+"There I differ with you, Cara. His manner is not so showy, nor his
+attentions to the many little forms and observances of social life,
+so prompt as to please the fastidious in these matters. These
+defects, however, are not defects of character, but of education. He
+has not mingled enough in society to give him confidence."
+
+"They are defects, and are serious enough to make him quite
+offensive to me. Last evening, at Mrs. Clinton's party, I sat beside
+him for half an hour, and was really disgusted with his marked
+disregard of the little courtesies of social life."
+
+"Indeed!" replied Jane, her manner becoming more serious, "and in
+what did these omissions consist?"
+
+"Why, in the first place, while we were conversing,----"
+
+"He could converse, then?" said Jane, interrupting her friend.
+
+"O, no, I beg pardon! While we were _trying_ to converse--for among
+his other defects is an inability to talk to a lady on any subject
+of interest--I dropped my handkerchief, on purpose, of course, but
+he never offered to lift it for me; indeed, I doubt whether he saw
+it at all."
+
+"Then, Cara, how could you expect him to pick it up for you, if he
+did not see it?"
+
+"But he ought to have seen it. He should have had his eyes about
+him; and so should every gentleman who sits by or is near a lady. I
+know one that never fails."
+
+"And pray, who is the perfect gentleman?" asked Jane smiling. "Is he
+one of my acquaintances?"
+
+"Certainly he is. I mean Charles Wilton."
+
+"He is, I must confess, different from Walter Gray," Jane remarked,
+drily.
+
+"I hope he is!" said Cara, tossing her head, for she felt that
+something by no means complimentary was implied in the equivocal
+remark of her friend.
+
+"But, seriously, Cara, I must, in turn, express regret that you
+allow yourself to feel interested in one like Charles Wilton. Trust
+me, my friend, he is unworthy of your regard."
+
+"And pray, Miss," said Cara, warming suddenly, "what do you know of
+Charles Wilton, that will warrant your throwing out such
+insinuations against him?"
+
+"Little beyond what I have learned by my own observation."
+
+"And what has that taught you? I should like very much to know."
+
+"It has taught me, Cara," replied Jane, seriously, "to estimate him
+very lightly indeed. From what I have seen, I am convinced that he
+possesses neither fixed principles nor any decision of character. In
+the world, without these a man is like a ship upon the ocean, having
+neither helm nor compass."
+
+"You make broad and bold charges, Jane. But I am sure you are
+mistaken."
+
+"I may be. But so certain am I that I am right, that I would rather
+die this hour than be compelled to link my lot in life with his.
+Certain I am that I should make shipwreck of hope and affection."
+
+"You deal in riddles, Jane. Speak out more plainly."
+
+"Surely, Cara, long before this you have or ought to have
+discovered, that Charles Wilton exhibits far too much love of
+appearance for a sensible man. He dresses in the very best style and
+may be able to afford it; but that is not all;--he evidently esteems
+these external embellishments of superior importance to mental or
+moral endowments. He rarely fails to remark upon men not so well
+dressed as himself, and to refer to the defect as one sufficient to
+make the individual contemptible, no matter what may be the
+circumstances or merit of the person referred to. I have more than
+once noticed that Charles Wilton passes over every thing in his
+disgust for defect in dress."
+
+"I do not see a matter of serious importance in that," said Cara.
+"His love of dress is a mere foible, that may be excused. It
+certainly has nothing to do with his real character."
+
+"It is an indication of the man's true character," her friend
+replied. "I am sure that I want no plainer exhibition. If he was
+simply fond of dress, and indulged in that fondness even to the
+extent he now does it might indicate a mere weakness of character,
+in the form of an undue love of admiration. But when, to this, we
+see a disposition to value others, and to judge of them by their
+garments, then we may be sure that there is a serious defect of
+character. The man, Cara, believe me, who has no higher standard of
+estimation for other men, than the form, manner, and texture of
+their garments, has not the capacity rightly to value a woman or to
+know wherein her true merit lies. This is _one_ of the reasons why I
+said that I would rather die than link my lot in life with that
+young man."
+
+"Well, as for me, Jane, I am sure that I would rather have a man
+with some spirit in him, than to be tied to such a drone as Walter
+Gray. Why, I should die in a week. I can't for my life, see how you
+can enjoy his society for a moment!"
+
+"I should think any woman ought to be able to enjoy the company of a
+man of sense," Jane remarked, quietly.
+
+"Surely, Jane, you don't pretend by that to set up Walter Gray as
+the superior of Charles Wilton in regard to intelligence?"
+
+"Certainly I do, Cara."
+
+"Why, Jane! There is no comparison, in this respect, between them.
+Every one knows that while Walter is dull, even to stupidity,
+Charles has a brilliant, well-informed mind. It is only necessary to
+hear each converse for an hour, to decide upon their respective
+merits."
+
+"In that last sentence you have uttered the truth, Cara, but the
+result would depend much upon the character of the listeners. For a
+time, no doubt, if Charles made an effort to show off, he would
+eclipse the less brilliant and unobtrusive Walter. But a close and
+discriminating observer would soon learn to judge between sound and
+sense, between borrowed thoughts and truthful sentiments originating
+in a philosophical and ever active mind. The shallow stream runs
+sparkling and flashing in the sunlight, while the deeper waters lie
+dark and unattractive."
+
+Cara shook her head as her friend ceased speaking, and replied,
+laughingly--
+
+"You can beat me at talking, Jane--but all your philosophy and
+poetry can't make me think Charles Wilton less brilliant and
+sensible, or Walter Gray less dull and spiritless."
+
+The two young men whose merits Jane Emory and Cara Linton had thus
+been discussing, had been law students for some years in the same
+office, and were now just admitted to practice at the bar in one of
+our Atlantic cities. They were friends, though altogether unlike
+each other. Walter Gray was modest and retiring, while Charles
+Wilton was a dashing, off-hand kind of a fellow, with more
+pretensions than merit. The mind of Walter was rather sluggish,
+while that of his friend was quick, and what some were disposed to
+esteem brilliant. The one was fond of dress and show, and effect;
+while the other paid less regard to these things than was really
+necessary to make him, with many, an agreeable companion. But the
+quick perceptions of the one were not equal to the patient, untiring
+application of the other. When admitted to practice, Wilton could
+make an effective, brilliant speech, and in ordinary cases, where an
+appeal to the feelings could influence a jury, was uniformly
+successful. But, where profound investigation, concise reasoning,
+and a laborious array of authorities were requisite, he was no
+competitor for his friend Gray. He was vain of his personal
+appearance, as has before been indicated, and was also fond of
+pleasure and company. In short, he was one of those dashing young
+men to be met with in all professions, who look upon business as an
+necessary evil, to be escaped whenever a opportunity offers--whose
+expectations of future prosperity are always large, and who look for
+success, not in the roads of patient, laborious application, but by
+a quicker and more brilliant way. They hope to produce a sensation
+by their tact or talents, and thus take fortune by storm. Few,
+indeed we might say none, of this class succeed. Those who startle a
+community by rapid advances, are, in all cases, such as have, to
+quick perceptions and brilliant powers, added much labor. Talent is
+nothing without prolonged and patient application; and they who
+suppose the road to success lies in any other way, may discover
+their error too late.
+
+The estimation in which the characters of these two young men was
+held, at least by two individuals, the preceding conversation has
+apprised the reader. Each made his impression upon a certain order
+of mind, and each was regarded, or lightly esteemed accordingly.
+Although in talents and in a right estimation of life and its true
+ends, the two young men were altogether dissimilar; yet were they
+friends, and in many respects intimate. Why they were so, we shall
+not stop to enquire, but proceed to introduce them more particularly
+to the reader.
+
+"I suppose you are going to Mrs. Melton's this evening?" said Wilton
+to his friend, a few weeks after the period indicated in the opening
+of this story.
+
+"I feel as if I would like to go. A social evening, now and then, I
+find pleasant, and I have no doubt it is useful to me."
+
+"That is right, Walter. I am glad to see you coming out of your
+recluse habits. You want the polish and ease that social life will
+give you."
+
+"I feel that, Wilton. But I fear I am too old now to have all the
+rough corners knocked off, and worn smooth."
+
+"O, don't despair. You'll make a ladies' man after awhile, if you
+persevere, and become more particular in your dress. But, to change
+the subject, a little, tell me what you think of Cara Linton? Her
+father is worth a plum, and she is just the showy, brilliant woman,
+of which a man like me ought to be proud of."
+
+"As you ask me, Charles, I must reply candidly. I would think her a
+dear bargain with all her father's money thrown in with her; and as
+to your other reasons for thinking of her as a wife, I consider
+them, to speak plainly, as I always do to you, despicable!"
+
+"And why so, Mr. Philosopher?"
+
+"A wife should be chosen from much higher considerations than these.
+What do you want with a brilliant, showy wife? You marry, or ought
+to marry, a companion for yourself--not a woman for the world to
+admire."
+
+"You are too matter-of-fact, by half, Walter. Your common sense
+ideas, as you call them, will keep you grubbing in a mole hill all
+your life.
+
+"I should like to see the woman _you_ would choose for a wife!"
+
+"I wish you had a few of these common sense ideas you despise so
+much. I am afraid, Charles, that the time is not very distant when
+you will stand sadly in need of them."
+
+"Don't trouble yourself, Walter. I'll take care of number one. Let
+me alone for that. But, I should like to know your serious
+objections to Cara? You sweep her aside with one wave of your hand,
+as if she were too insignificant to be thought of for a moment."
+
+"I said that _I_ should consider her a dear bargain, and so I
+would--for she would not suit me at all."
+
+"Ah, there I believe you. But come, let me hear why she would not
+suit you."
+
+"Because she has no correct and common sense estimation of life and
+its relations. She is full of poetry and romance, and fashion, and
+show, and 'all that kind of thing;' none of which, without a great
+deal of the salt of common sense, would suit me."
+
+"Common sense! Common sense! Common sense! That is your hobby.
+Verily, Walter, you are a monomaniac on the subject of common sense;
+but, as for me, I will leave common sense to common people. I go in
+for uncommon sense."
+
+"The poorest and most unprofitable sense of all, let me tell you.
+And one of these days you will discover it to be so."
+
+"It is no use for us to compare our philosophical notes, I see
+plainly enough," Wilton responded. "We shall never view things in
+the same light. You are not the man of the world you should be,
+Walter. Men of half your merit will eclipse you, winning opulence
+and distinction--while you, with your common sense notions, will be
+plodding on at a snail's pace. You are behind the age, and a
+stranger to its powerful, onward impulses."
+
+"And ever do I desire to remain behind the age, Wilton, if mere
+pretension and show be its ruling and impulsive spirit."
+
+"The old fashioned way of attaining eminence," Charles Wilton
+replied, assuming an attitude and speaking out truly the thoughts
+that were in his mind; "by plodding on with the emmet's patience,
+and storing up knowledge, grain by grain, brings not the hoped for
+reward, now. You must startle and surprise. The brilliant meteor
+attracts a thousand times more attention, than the brightest star
+that shines in the firmament."
+
+"You are trifling, Charles."
+
+"Never was more in earnest in my life. I have made up my mind to
+succeed; to be known and envied. And to gain the position of
+eminence I desire, I mean to take the surest way. The world _will_
+be deceived, and, therefore, they who would succeed must throw dust
+in people's eyes."
+
+"Or, in other words, deceive them by pretension. Charles, let me
+warn you against any such unmanly, and, I must say, dishonest
+course. Be true to yourself and true to principle."
+
+"I shall certainly be true to myself, Walter. For what pray do we
+toil over dry and musty law books in a confined office, months and
+years, if not to gain the power of rising in the world? I have
+served my dreary apprenticeship--I have learnt the art and mystery,
+and now for the best and most certain mode of applying it."
+
+"But, remember your responsibility to society. Your----"
+
+Nonsense! What do I, or what does any one else care about society?
+My motto is, Every one for himself, and the deuce take the hindmost.
+And that's the motto of the whole world."
+
+"Not of the whole world, Charles."
+
+"Yes, of the whole world, with, perhaps, the single, strange
+exception of Walter Gray. And he will be flung to the wall, and soon
+forgotten, I fear."
+
+"You jest on a serious subject, Charles."
+
+"I tell you, Walter, I am in earnest," Wilton replied with emphasis.
+"He that would be ahead, must get ahead in the best way possible.
+But I cannot linger here. It is now nearly night; and it will take
+me full two hours to prepare myself to meet Miss Cara Linton. I must
+make a captive of the dashing maiden this very evening." And so
+saying, he turned, and left the office.
+
+That evening, amid a gay and fashionable assemblage at Mrs.
+Merton's, was to be seen the showy Charles Wilton, with his easy,
+and even elegant manners, attracting almost as much attention as his
+vain heart could desire. And the quiet, sensible Walter Gray was
+there also, looking upon all things with a calm, philosophic mein.
+
+"Your friend Mr. Wilton is quite the centre of attraction for the
+young ladies, this evening," remarked Jane Emory, who was leaning
+upon the arm of Walter Gray, and listening with an interest she
+scarcely dared confess to herself, to his occasional remarks, that
+indicated a mind active with true and healthful thought.
+
+"And he seems to enjoy it," replied Walter, with a pleasant tone and
+smile.
+
+"Almost too much so, it seems to me, for a man," his companion said,
+though with nothing censorious in her manner. She merely expressed a
+sentiment without showing that it excited unkind feelings.
+
+"Or for a woman, either," was the quick response.
+
+"True. But if pleased with attentions, and even admiration may we
+not be excused?"
+
+"O, certainly. We may all be excused for our weaknesses; still they
+are weaknesses, after all."
+
+"And therefore should not be encouraged."
+
+"Certainly not. We should be governed by some higher end than the
+mere love of admiration--even admiration for good qualities."
+
+"I admit the truth of what you say, and yet, the state is one to
+which I have not yet attained."
+
+Walter Gray turned a look full of tender interest upon the maiden by
+his side, as she ceased speaking, and said in a tone that had in it
+much of tenderness,
+
+"You express, Miss Emory, but the feeling which every one has who
+truly desires the attainment of true excellence of character. We
+have not this excellence, naturally, but it is within the compass of
+effort. Like you, I have had to regret the weaknesses and
+deficiencies of my own character. But, in self-government, as in
+everything else, my motto is, Persevere to the end. The same motto,
+or the same rule of action, clothed in other words, perhaps, I
+trust--nay, I am sure, rules in your mind."
+
+For a few moments Jane did not reply. She feared to utter any form
+of words that would mislead. At length she said, modestly,
+
+"I try to subdue in me what is evil, or that which seems to me to
+act in opposition to good principles."
+
+Before Walter Gray, pleased with the answer, could frame in his mind
+a fitting reply, Charles Wilton, with Cara Linton on his arm, was
+thrown in front of them.
+
+"Has Walter been edifying you with one of the Psalms of David, Miss
+Emory?" said Wilton, gaily. "One would think so from his solemn
+face, and the demure, thoughtful expression of yours."
+
+Neither Walter nor his fair companion were what is called
+quick-witted; and both were so checked in their thoughts and
+feelings that neither could, on the moment, fitly reply.
+
+"O, I see how it is," the gay young man continued. "He has been
+reading you some of his moral homilies, and you are tired to death.
+Well, you must bear with him, Miss Emory, he will learn better after
+awhile." And the young man and his thoughtless companion turned
+laughing away.
+
+For a few moments the disturbed thoughts of Walter and his fair
+friend, trembled upon the surface of their feelings, and then all
+was again as tranquil as the bosom of a quiet lake.
+
+Enough has now been said, to give a fair idea of the ends which the
+two young men, we have introduced, set before them upon entering
+life. Let us now proceed to trace the effects of these ends;
+effects, which, as a necessary consequence, involved others as much
+as themselves.
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+
+
+"Well, Gray, the business is all settled," said Wilton, one day,
+coming into the office of the individual he addressed so familiarly.
+
+"What business, Charles?"
+
+"Why, I've won the rich and beautiful Miss Linton. Last night I told
+my story, and was referred to the old man, of course. I have just
+seen him, and he says I am welcome to the hand of his daughter. Now,
+is not that a long stride up the ladder! The most beautiful and
+attractive woman in the city for a wife, and an old daddy in law as
+rich as Croesus!"
+
+"You are what some would call a lucky dog," said Wilton, with a
+smile.
+
+"And yet there is no luck in it. 'Faint heart, they say, 'never won
+fair lady.' I knew half-a-dozen clever fellows who were looking to
+Miss Linton's hand; but while they hesitated, I stepped boldly up
+and carried off the prize. Let me alone, Walter. I'll work my way
+through the world."
+
+"And I, too, have been doing something in that line."
+
+"You? Why, Walter, you confound me! I never dreamed that you would
+have the courage to make love to a woman."
+
+"Wiser ones than you are mistaken, sometimes."
+
+"No doubt of it. But who is the fair lady?"
+
+"Can you not guess?"
+
+"Jane Emory?"
+
+"Of course. She is the most sensible women it has yet been my
+fortune to meet."
+
+"Has the best common sense, I suppose?"
+
+"Exactly."
+
+"You are a genius, Walter. When you die, I expect you will leave a
+clause in your will, to the effect that the undertaker shall be a
+man of good, plain, common sense. O dear! What a dull life you will
+lead! Darby and Joan!"
+
+"You are still a trifler with serious matters, Charles. But time
+will sober you, I trust, and do it before such a change will come
+too late."
+
+"How much is old Emory worth, Walter?" Wilton asked, without
+regarding the last remark of his friend.
+
+"I am sure I do not know. Not a great deal, I suppose."
+
+"You don't know?"
+
+"No; how should I?"
+
+"Well, you are a queer one! It is time that you did then, let me
+tell you."
+
+"Why so?"
+
+"In the name of sense, Walter, what are you going to marry his
+daughter for."
+
+"Because I love her."
+
+"Pah! I know how much of that sort of thing appertains to the
+business."
+
+"Charles!"
+
+"Don't look so utterly dumfounded, friend Walter."
+
+"I am surprised, and I must say pained, to hear you speak thus.
+Surely you love the young lady you propose to marry?"
+
+"Of course. But then I have a decent regard for her old father's
+wealth; and I am by no means insensible to her personal attractions.
+I group all that is desirable into one grand consideration--beauty,
+wealth, standing, mental endowments, etc.,--and take her for the
+whole. But for love--a mere impulse that will die of itself, if left
+alone,--to marry a young lady! O no,--I am not the simpleton for
+that!"
+
+Walter Gray looked his friend in the face for a moment or two, but
+did not reply. He was pained, even shocked at his levity.
+
+"You seem really to doubt my being in earnest?" said Wilton, after a
+pause.
+
+"I would doubt, if I could, Charles. But I fear you are speaking out
+too truly, sentiments that I could not have believed you capable of
+entertaining."
+
+"You are too simple and unsophisticated to live in this world, my
+old friend Walter Gray."
+
+"And long may I remain so," was the calm response, "if to be honest
+and sincere is to be simple and unsophisticated."
+
+"Well, good morning to you, and success to your love marriage."
+
+And so saying, Charles Wilton left the office of his friend.
+
+A few weeks more passed away, and the two young men had, in the
+meantime, consummated their matrimonial engagements. The wedding of
+Charles Wilton and Cara Linton was a splendid affair, succeeded by
+parties and entertainments for five or six weeks. That of Walter
+Gray and Jane Emory passed off more quietly and rationally.
+
+Three months after their wedding-day, let us look in upon the two
+friends and their fair partners; and first, upon Charles Wilton and
+his bride. The time is evening, and they are sitting alone in one of
+their richly furnished parlors.
+
+"O dear!" yawned out Wilton, rising and walking backwards and
+forwards, "this is dull work. Is there no place where we can go and
+spend a pleasant evening?"
+
+"I don't know, dear. Suppose we step over and see Pa?"
+
+"O no. We were there two or three evenings ago. And, any how, I am
+in no humor for playing at draughts."
+
+"Well, I should like to go there this evening. I want to see Ma
+about something."
+
+"You can easily go to-morrow, Cara, and stay as long as you choose."
+
+"But I should like to go to night, dear."
+
+"Don't think of it, Cara."
+
+"Then suppose we call in and sit an hour with the Melton's?"
+
+"Not to-night, Cara. The old man is deaf, and talks you out of all
+patience about sugars and teas cotton and tobacco."
+
+"But the girls are lively and entertaining."
+
+"Not for me, Cara. Think again."
+
+"Why not stay at home?"
+
+"And pray what shall we do here?"
+
+"I'll sing and play for you."
+
+"I am in no humor for music to-night."
+
+His young wife sighed, but Wilton did not notice it.
+
+"Come, let us go over to the Grogans?" he at length said.
+
+"I can't say that I care much about going there," his wife replied.
+
+"Of course not. You never seem to care much about going where I wish
+to," said Wilton, pettishly.
+
+His wife burst into tears, and sat sobbing for some minutes, during
+which time Wilton paced the room backwards and forwards, in moody
+silence. After a while his wife rose up and stole quietly from the
+room, and in a few minutes returned, dressed, to go out.
+
+"I am ready," she said.
+
+"Ready to go where?"
+
+"To Mr. Grogan's, of course. You wish to go."
+
+"I don't care about going now, as long as you are unwilling."
+
+"Yes, but I am willing, Charles, if the visit will be pleasant to
+you."
+
+"O, as to that, I don't wish to compel you to go anywhere."
+
+"Indeed, Charles, I am willing to go," said his wife, while her
+voice trembled and sounded harshly. "Come, now that I am ready. I
+wish to go."
+
+For a moment longer Wilton hesitated, and then took up his hat and
+went with her. Few were the words that passed between them as they
+walked along the street. Arrived at their friend's house they both
+suddenly changed, and were as gay, and seemed as happy, as the
+gayest and the happiest.
+
+"Shall we call in upon some pleasant friends to-night or spend our
+evening alone?" asked Walter Gray, taking a seat upon the sofa
+beside his happy wife, on the same evening that the foregoing
+conversation and incidents occurred.
+
+"Let it be as you wish, Walter," was the affectionate, truthful
+reply.
+
+"As for me, Jane, I am always happy at home--too happy, I sometimes
+think."
+
+"How, too happy?"
+
+"Too happy to think of others, Jane. We must be careful not to
+become isolated and selfish in our pleasures. Our social character
+must not be sacrificed. If it is in our power to add to the
+happiness of others, it is right that we should mingle in the social
+circle."
+
+"I feel the truth of what you say, Walter, and yet I find it hard to
+be thus unselfish. I am sure that I would a thousand times rather
+remain at home and read with you a pleasant book, or sing and play
+for you, than to spend an evening away from our pleasant home."
+
+"I feel the same inclinations. But I am unwilling to encourage them.
+And yet, I am not an advocate for continual visitings. The delights
+of our own sweet fireside, small though the circle be, I would enjoy
+often. But these pleasures will be increased tenfold by our
+willingness to let others share them, and, also, by our joining in
+their home--delights and social recreations."
+
+A pause of a few moments ensued, when Mrs. Gray said,
+
+"Suppose, then, Walter, we call over and see how they are getting on
+at 'home?' Pa and Ma are lonesome, now that I am away."
+
+"Just what I was thinking of, Jane. So get on your things, and we
+will join them and spend a pleasant evening."
+
+These brief conversations will indicate to the reader how each of
+the young men and their wives were thus early beginning to reap the
+fruits of true and false principles of action. We cannot trace each
+on his career, step by step, during the passage of many years,
+though much that would interest and instruct could be gathered from
+their histories. The limits of a brief story like this will not
+permit us thus to linger. On, then, to the grand result of their
+lives we must pass. Let us look at the summing up of the whole
+matter, and see which of the young men started with the true secret
+of success in the world, and which of the young ladies evinced most
+wisdom in her choice of a husband.
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+
+
+"Poor Mrs. Wilton!" remarked Mrs. Gray, now a cheerful, intelligent
+woman of forty, with half-a-dozen grown and half-grown up daughters,
+"it makes me sad whenever I see her, or think of her."
+
+"Her husband was not kind to her, I believe, while she lived with
+him," said Mrs. Gray's visitor, whom she had addressed.
+
+"It is said so. But I am sure I do not know. I never liked him, nor
+thought him a man of principle. I said as much as I thought prudent
+to discourage her from receiving his attentions. But she was a gay
+girl herself, and was attracted by dashing pretension, rather than
+by unobtrusive merit."
+
+"It was thought at one time that Mr. Wilton would lead in the
+profession here. I remember when his name used frequently to get
+into the newspapers, coupled with high compliments on his brilliant
+talents."
+
+"Yes. He flashed before the eyes of the crowd for awhile, but it was
+soon discovered that he had more brilliancy than substance. The loss
+of two or three important cases, that required solid argument and a
+well-digested array of facts and authorities, instead of flights of
+fancy and appeals to the feelings, ruined his standing at the bar.
+The death of his father-in-law, with an insolvent estate,
+immediately after, took wonderfully from the estimation in which he
+was held. Thrown, thus, suddenly back, and upon his own resources,
+he sunk at once from the point of observation, and lingered around
+the court-house, picking up petty cases, as a matter of necessity.
+Long before this, I had noticed that Mrs. Wilton had greatly
+changed. But now a sadder change took place--a separation from her
+husband. The cause of this separation I know not. I never asked her,
+nor to me has she ever alluded to it. But it is said that his manner
+towards her became insufferable, and that she sought protection and
+an asylum among her friends. Be the cause what it may, it is enough
+to make her a poor, heart-stricken creature."
+
+"How well I remember, when their parties were the most splendid and
+best attended of the season."
+
+"Yes, I well remember it too. Still, even then, gay and brilliant as
+Mrs. Wilton was, I never thought her happy. Indeed, seeing her often
+alone as I did, I could not but mark the painful contrast in her
+spirits. At home, when not entertaining company, she was listless or
+unhappy. How often have I come in upon her, and noticed her
+moistened eyes."
+
+"Ah me! it must be a wrong beginning that makes so sad an ending."
+
+The truth of the remark, as applicable in this case, struck Mrs.
+Gray forcibly, and she mused in thoughtful silence for a few
+moments.
+
+"Have you heard the news, Judge Gray?" said a lawyer, addressing the
+individual he had named, about the same hour that the conversation,
+just noted, occurred.
+
+"No. What is it?"
+
+"Why, Wilton has committed a forgery."
+
+"O no, it cannot be!" said the Judge, in tones of painful surprise.
+
+"It is too true, I fear, Judge."
+
+"Is the amount considerable?"
+
+"Ten thousand dollars is the sum mentioned."
+
+"Has he been arrested?"
+
+"No. But the officers are hard after him. The newspapers will
+announce the fact to-morrow morning."
+
+Judge Gray leaned his head upon his hand, and, with his eyes cast
+upon the floor, sat for some moments in painful thought.
+
+"Poor man!" he at length said, looking up. "The end has come at
+last. I have long feared for him. He started wrong in the
+beginning."
+
+"I hope they will catch him," remarked the individual he was
+addressing.
+
+Judge Gray did not reply, but cast his eyes again upon the floor.
+
+"He has lived by gambling these six years," continued the lawyer,
+"and I suppose he has committed this forgery to pay some 'debt of
+honor.' Well, I can't say that I am sorry to be rid of him from this
+bar, for he was not a pleasant man to be forced into contact with."
+
+"And yet he was a man of some talents," remarked the Judge,
+musingly.
+
+"And when that is said all is said. Without industry, legal
+knowledge, or sound principles of action, what was he good for? He
+would do for a political stump declaimer--but, as a lawyer, in any
+case of moment, he was not worth a copper."
+
+And thus saying, the lawyer turned away, and left Judge Gray to his
+own thoughts.
+
+"I have unpleasant news to tell you, Jane," said Judge Gray, coming
+into the room where sat his wife, an hour afterwards.
+
+"What is that, husband?" asked Mrs. Gray, looking up with a
+concerned countenance.
+
+"Why, our old friend Charles Wilton has committed a forgery!"
+
+"Poor Cara! It will break her heart," Mrs. Gray said in a sad tone.
+
+"I do not suppose she has much affection for him, Jane."
+
+"No, but she has a good deal of pride left--all, in fact, that
+sustains her. This last blow, I fear, will be too much for one who
+has no true strength of character."
+
+"Would it not be well for you to call in and see her to-morrow? The
+papers will all announce the fact in the morning, and she may need
+the consolation which a true friend might be able to afford her."
+
+"I will go, most certainly, much as my natural feelings shrink from
+the task. Where she is, I am sure she has no one to lean upon: for
+there is not one of her so-called friends, upon whom she feels
+herself a burden, that can or will sympathize with her truly."
+
+"Go, then. And may mercy's errand find mercy's reward."
+
+On the next morning all the city papers teemed with accounts of the
+late forgery, and blazoned Charles Wilton's name, with many
+opprobrious epithets before the public. Some went even so far as to
+allude to his wife, whom they said he had forsaken years before, and
+who was now, it was alleged, living in poverty, and, some hinted in
+disgrace and infamy.
+
+Early in the day, Mrs. Gray repaired to the cheerless home of her
+early friend. She was shown to her chamber, where she found her
+lying insensible on the bed, with one of the newspapers in her hand,
+that alluded to herself in disgraceful terms.
+
+Long and patient efforts to restore her, at length produced the
+desired result. But it was many days before she seemed distinctly
+conscious of what was passing or would converse with any degree of
+coherency.
+
+"Come and spend a few weeks with me, Cara."
+
+Mrs. Gray said to her, one day, on calling in to see her; "I am sure
+it will do you good."
+
+There was a sad, but grateful expression in the pale face of Mrs.
+Wilton, as she looked into the eye of her old friend, but ventured
+no reply.
+
+"You will come, will you not, Cara?" urged Mrs. Gray.
+
+"My presence in your happy family would be like the shadow of an
+evil wing," said she bitterly.
+
+"Our happy family, say-rather, would chase away the gloomy shadows
+that darken your heart. Come then, and we will give you a cheerful
+welcome."
+
+"I feel much inclined, and yet I hesitate, for I ought not to throw
+a gloom over your household," and the tears filled her eyes, and
+glistened through the lids which were closed suddenly over them.
+
+"Come, and welcome!" Mrs. Gray urged, taking her hand and gently
+pressing it.
+
+That evening Mrs. Wilton spent in the pleasant family of her old
+friend.
+
+Three weeks afterwards, Mrs. Gray asked of her husband, if anything
+had been heard of Mr. Wilton.
+
+"Nothing," he replied. "He has escaped all pursuit thus far, and the
+officers, completely at fault, have returned."
+
+"I cannot say that I am sorry, at least for the sake of his wife.
+She seems more cheerful since she came here. I feel sometimes as if
+I should like to offer her a home, for she has none, that might
+truly be so called."
+
+"Act up to your kind desire, Jane, if you think it right to do so,"
+said her husband. "Perhaps in no other home open to her could so
+much be done for her comfort."
+
+The home was accordingly offered, and tearfully accepted.
+
+"Jane," said the sad hearted woman, "I cannot tell you how much I
+have suffered in the last twenty years. How much from
+heart-sickening disappointments, and lacerated affections. High
+hopes and brilliant expectations that made my weak brain giddy to
+think of, have all ended thus. How weak and foolish--how mad we
+were! But my husband was not all to blame. I was as insane in my
+views of life as he. We lived only for ourselves--thought and cared
+only for ourselves--and here is the result. How wisely and well did
+you choose, Jane. Where my eye saw nothing to admire, yours more
+skilled, perceived the virgin ore of truth. I was dazzled by show,
+while you looked below the surface, and saw true character, and its
+effect in action. How signally has each of us been rewarded!" and
+the heart-stricken creature bowed her head and wept.
+
+And now, kind reader, if there be one who has followed us thus far,
+are you disappointed in not meeting some startling denoument, or
+some effective point in this narrative. I hope not. Natural results
+have followed, in just order, the adoption of true and false
+principles of action--and thus will they ever follow. Learn, then, a
+lesson from the history of the two young men and the maidens of
+their choice. Let every young man remember, that all permanent
+success in life depends upon the adoption of such principles of
+action as are founded in honesty and truth; and let every young
+woman take it to heart, that all her married life will be affected
+by the principles which her husband sets down as rules of action.
+Let her give no consideration to his brilliant prospect, or his
+brilliant mind, if sound moral principles do not govern him.
+
+"But what became of Charles Wilton and his wife?" I hear a
+bright-eyed maiden asking, as she turns half impatient from my
+homily.
+
+Wilton has escaped justice thus far, and his wife, growing more and
+more cheerful every day, is still the inmate of Judge Gray's family,
+and I trust will remain so until the end of her journeying here. And
+what is more, she is learning the secret, that there is more
+happiness in caring for others, than in being all absorbed in
+selfish consideration. Still, she is a sad wreck upon the stream of
+life--a warning beacon for your eyes, young lady.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+VISITING AS NEIGHBORS.
+
+
+
+
+
+"I see that the house next door has been taken," remarked Mr. Leland
+to his wife, as they sat alone one pleasant summer evening.
+
+"Yes. The family moved in to-day," returned Mrs. Leland.
+
+"Do you know their name?"
+
+"It is Halloran."
+
+"Halloran, Halloran," said Mr. Leland, musingly. "I wonder if it's
+the same family that lived in Parker Street."
+
+"Yes, the same; and I wish they had stayed there."
+
+"Their moving in next door need not trouble us, Jane. They are not
+on our list of acquaintances."
+
+"But I shall have to call upon Mrs. Haloran; and Emma upon her
+grown-up daughter Mary."
+
+"I do not see how that is to follow as a consequence of their
+removal into our neighborhood."
+
+"Politeness requires us to visit them as neighbors."
+
+"Are they really our neighbors?" asked Mr. Leland, significantly.
+
+"Certainly they are. How strange that you should ask the question!"
+
+"What constitutes them such? Not mere proximity, certainly. Because
+a person happens to live in a house near by, can that make him or
+her really a neighbor, and entitled to the attention and
+consideration due a neighbor?"
+
+This remark caused Mrs. Leland to look thoughtful. "It ought not,"
+she said, after sitting silent a little while, "but still, it does."
+
+"I do not think so. A neighbor--that is, one to whom kind offices is
+due--ought to come with higher claims than the mere fact of living
+in a certain house located near by the dwelling in which we reside.
+If mere location is to make any one a neighbor, we have no
+protection against the annoyance and intrusions of persons we do not
+like; nay, against evil-minded persons, who would delight more in
+doing us injury than good. These Hallorans for instance. They move
+in good society; but they are not persons to our mind. I should not
+like to see you on terms of intimacy with Mrs. Halloran, or Jane
+with her daughter. In fact, the latter I should feel, did it exist,
+to be a calamity."
+
+"Still they _are_ our neighbors," Mrs. Leland said. "I do not see
+how we can avoid calling upon them."
+
+"Perhaps," remarked the husband, "you have not thought seriously
+enough on the subject.
+
+"Who is my neighbor? is a question of importance, and ought to be
+answered in every mind. Something more than living in the same
+street, or block of houses, is evidently implied in the word
+neighbor. It clearly involves a reciprocity of good feelings. Mere
+proximity in space cannot effect this. It requires another kind of
+nearness--the nearness of similar affections; and these must,
+necessarily, be unselfish; for in selfishness there is no
+reciprocity. Under this view, could you consider yourself the
+neighbor of such a person as Mrs. Halloran?"
+
+"No matter what the character, we should be kind to all. Every one
+should be our neighbor, so far as this is concerned. Do you not
+think so?"
+
+"I do not, Jane."
+
+"Should we not be kind to every one?"
+
+"Yes, kind; but not in the acceptation of the word as you have used
+it. There is a false, as well as a true kindness. And it often
+happens that true kindness appears to be any thing but what it
+really is. In order to be kind to another, we are not always
+required to exhibit flattering attentions. These often injure where
+distance and reserve would do good. Besides, they too frequently
+give power to such as are evil-disposed--a power that is exercised
+injuriously to others."
+
+"But the simple fact of my calling upon Mrs. Halloran cannot,
+possibly, give her the power of injuring me or any one else."
+
+"I think differently. The fact that you have called upon her will be
+a reason for some others to do the same; for, you know, there are
+persons who never act from a distinct sense of right, but merely
+follow in the wake of others. Thus the influence of a selfish,
+censorious, evil-minded woman will be extended. So far as you are
+concerned, the danger may be greater than you imagine. Is Mary
+Halloran, in your estimation, a fit companion for our daughter?
+Could she become intimate with her, and not suffer a moral
+deterioration?"
+
+"I think not."
+
+"Are you sure that a call upon Mrs. Halloran will not lead to this
+result?"
+
+"No, I am not _sure_. Still, I do not apprehend any danger."
+
+"I should be very much afraid of the experiment."
+
+"But, do you not think, husband, that, apart from all these fears, I
+am bound to extend to Mrs. Halloran the courtesies due a neighbor?"
+
+"I cannot, in the true sense of the word, consider her a neighbor;
+and, therefore, do not see that you owe her the courtesies to which
+you allude. It is the good in any one that really makes the
+neighbor. This good should ever be regarded. But, to show
+attentions, and give eminence and consideration to an evil-minded
+person, is to make evil, instead of good, the neighbor.--It is to
+give that power to evil which is ever exercised in injury to
+others."
+
+Mrs. Leland's mind perceived only in a small degree the force of
+what her husband said.--She was not a woman who troubled herself
+about the characters of those who stood upon a certain level in
+society. Mrs. Halloran claimed her place from wealth and family
+connexions, and this place was rather above than below that occupied
+by Mrs. Leland. The temptation to call upon her was, therefore,
+pretty strong. It was not so much a regard for her new neighbor, as
+a desire to make her acquaintance, that influenced her.--Acting in
+opposition to her husband's judgment, in a few days she called upon
+Mrs. Halloran.
+
+She found her, to use her own words, a "charming woman." The next
+move was for the daughter to call upon Mary Halloran. Before the
+week passed, these calls had been returned. In a month the two
+families--that is, the female members of them--had become quite
+intimate. This intimacy troubled Mr. Leland. He was a man of pure
+principles, and could tolerate no deviation from them. Deeply did he
+regret any association that might tend to weaken the respect for
+such principles with which he had sought to inspire the mind of his
+daughter. In them he knew lay the power that was to protect her in
+the world. But he could not interfere, arbitrarily, with his wife;
+that he would have considered more dangerous than to let her act in
+freedom. But he felt concerned for the consequence, and frequently
+urged her not to be too intimate with her new neighbor.
+
+"Some evil, I am sure, will grow out of it," he would say, whenever
+allusion was in any way made to the subject of his wife's intimacy
+with Mrs. Halloran. "No one can touch pitch and not be defiled."
+
+"I really must blame you," Mrs. Leland replied to a remark like
+this, "for your blind opposition to Mrs. Halloran. The more I see of
+her, the better I like her. She is a perfect lady. So kind, so
+affable, so--so"--
+
+Mr. Leland shook his head.
+
+"The mere gloss of polite society," he returned. "There is no
+soundness in her heart. We know that, for the tree is judged by its
+fruit."
+
+"We have seen no evil fruit," said the wife.
+
+"Others have, and we _know_ that others have.--Her conduct in the
+case of the Percys is notorious."
+
+"Common report is always exaggerated."
+
+"Though it usually has some foundation in truth. But granting all
+the exaggeration and false judgment that usually appertain to common
+report, is it not wiser to act as if common report were true, until
+we know it to be false?"
+
+But it was useless for Mr. Leland to talk.--His wife was charmed
+with the fascinating neighbor, and would hear nothing against her.
+Jane, too, had become intimate with Mary Halloran, a bold-faced
+girl, who spent half of her time in the street, and talked of little
+else but beaux and dress. Jane was eighteen, and before her
+acquaintance with Mary, had been but little into company. Her
+intimacy with Mary soon put new notions into her head. She began to
+think more of dress, and scarcely a day passed that she did not go
+out with her very intimate and pleasant friend. Mrs. Leland did not
+like this. Much as she was pleased Mrs. Halloran, she never fancied
+the daughter a great deal, and would have been much better satisfied
+if the two young ladies had not become quite so intimate.
+
+"Where are you going?" she said to Jane, who came down stairs
+dressed to go out, one morning.
+
+"Mary and I are going to make some calls," she replied.
+
+"You were out making calls, yesterday, with Mary, and the day before
+also. This is too great a waste of time, Jane. I would rather see
+you at home more."
+
+"I don't know why you should wish to confine me down to the house.
+Mary Halloran goes and comes when she pleases."
+
+"Mary Halloran is in the street a great deal too much. I am far from
+wishing to see you imitate her example."
+
+"But what harm is there in it, mother?"
+
+"A great deal, Jane. It gives idle habits, and makes the mind
+dissatisfied with the more sober duties of life."
+
+"I am too young for the sober duties of life," said Jane, rather
+pertly.
+
+"That is, doubtless, one of your friend Mary's sentiments; and it is
+worthy of her."
+
+This was true, and Jane did not deny it.
+
+"Go now," said Mrs. Leland, with much sobriety of manner. "But
+remember that I disapprove of this gadding about, and object to its
+continuance. I should be very sorry to have your father know to what
+extent you are carrying it."
+
+Jane went out and called for Mary, and the two young ladies made a
+few calls, and then walked the streets until dinner time; not,
+however, alone, but accompanied by a dashing young fellow, who had
+been introduced to Mary a few evenings before, and now made bold to
+follow up the acquaintance, encouraged by a glance from the young
+lady's bright, inviting eyes.
+
+Mrs. Leland, in the mean time, felt unhappy. Her daughter was
+changing, and the change troubled her. The intimacy formed with Mary
+Halloran, it was clear, was doing her no good, but harm. By this
+time, too, she had noticed some things in the mother that were by no
+means to her taste. There was a coarseness, vulgarity and want of
+delicacy about her, that showed itself more and more every day,
+traits of character particularly offensive to Mrs. Leland, who was a
+woman of refined sentiments. Besides, Mrs. Halloran's conversation
+involved topics neither interesting nor instructing to her
+neighbors; and often of a decidedly objectionable kind. In fact, she
+liked her less and less every day, and felt her too frequently
+repeated visits as an annoyance; and though "Why don't you come in
+to see me oftener?" was repeated almost daily, she did not return
+more than one out of every half dozen calls she received.
+
+"I've seen Jane in the street with that Mary Halloran no less than
+three times this week," said Mr. Leland, one day, "and on two of
+these occasions there was a beau accompanying each of the young
+ladies."
+
+"She goes out too often, I know," returned Mrs. Leland seriously. "I
+have objected to it several times, but the girl's head seems turned
+with that Mary Halloran. I do wish she had never known her."
+
+"So do I, from my heart. We knew what she was, and never should have
+permitted Jane to make her acquaintance, if it had been in our power
+to prevent it."
+
+"It is too late now, and can't be helped."
+
+"Too late to prevent the acquaintance, but not too late to prevent
+some of the evil consequences likely to grow out of such an improper
+intimacy, which must cease from the present time."
+
+"It will be a difficult matter to break it off now."
+
+"No matter how difficult it may be, it must be done. The first step
+toward it you will have to make, in being less intimate with the
+mother, whom I like less and less the oftener I meet her."
+
+"That step, so far as I am concerned, has already been taken. I have
+ceased visiting Mrs. Halloran almost entirely; but she is here just
+as often, and sadly annoys me. I dislike her more and more every
+day."
+
+"If I saw as much in any one to object to as you see in Mrs.
+Halloran, I would soon make visiting a thing by no means agreeable.
+You can easily get rid of her intrusive familiarity if you think
+proper."
+
+"Yes, by offending her, and getting the ill-will of a low-minded
+unprincipled woman; a thing that no one wants."
+
+"Better offend her than suffer, as we are likely to suffer, from a
+continuance of the acquaintance. Offend the mother, I say, and thus
+you get rid of the daughter."
+
+But Mrs. Leland was not prepared for this step, yet. From having
+been fascinated by Mrs. Halloran, she now began to fear her.
+
+"I should not like to have her talk of me as she talks of some
+people whom I think a great deal better than she is."
+
+"Let her talk. What she says will be no scandal," returned Mr.
+Leland.
+
+"Even admit that, I don't want to be on bad terms with a neighbor.
+If she were to remove from the neighborhood, the thing would assume
+a different aspect. As it is, I cannot do as I please."
+
+"Can't you indeed? Then I think we had better move forthwith, in
+order that you may be free to act right. There is one thing that I
+intend doing, immediately, in any event, and that is, to forbid Jane
+from associating any longer with Mary Halloran."
+
+"She cannot help herself. Mary calls for her every day."
+
+"She can help going out with her and returning her calls; and this
+she must do."
+
+"I wish it could be prevented. But I am afraid of harsh measures."
+
+"I am more afraid of the consequences to our daughter. We know not
+into what company this indiscreet young lady may introduce, nor how
+deeply she may corrupt her. Our duty to our child requires us at
+once to break up all intercourse with the family."
+
+The necessity Mrs. Leland saw clearly enough, but she hesitated. Her
+husband, however, was not a man to hold back when his duty was
+before him. Neither fear nor favor governed him in his actions
+toward others. When satisfied that a thing ought to be done, he
+entered fearlessly upon the work, leaving consequences to take care
+of themselves.
+
+While they were yet conversing Jane came to the door, accompanied by
+a young gallant. Mr. Leland happened to be sitting near the window
+and saw him.
+
+"Bless my heart!" he said, in an excited voice.
+
+"Here she is now, in company with that good-for-nothing son of Mr.
+Clement. She might almost as well associate with Satan himself."
+
+"With John Clement?" asked Mrs. Leland, in surprise.
+
+"It is too true; and the fellow had the assurance to kiss his hand
+to her. This matter has gone quite far enough now, in all
+conscience, and must be stopped, if half the world become offended."
+
+Mrs. Leland doubted and hesitated no longer. The young man who had
+come home with Jane bore a notoriously bad character. It was little
+less than disgrace, in the eyes of virtuous people, for a lady to be
+seen in the street with him. Mr. and Mrs. Leland were shocked and
+distressed at the appearance of things; and mutually resolved that
+all intercourse with Mrs. Halloran and her daughter should cease.
+This could not be effected without giving offence; but no matter,
+offence would have to be given.
+
+On that very afternoon Mrs. Halloran called in. But Mrs. Leland sent
+her word that she was engaged.
+
+"Engaged, indeed!" said the lady to the servant, tossing her head.
+"I'm never engaged to a neighbor."
+
+The servant repeated the words.
+
+"Be engaged again, if she calls," said Mr. Leland, when his wife
+mentioned the remark of her visitor. "It will raise an effectual
+barrier between you."
+
+Some serious conversation was had with Jane that day by her mother,
+but Jane was by no means submissive.
+
+"Your father positively forbids any farther intimacy between you and
+Mary Halloran. I shall have nothing more to do with her mother."
+
+Jane met this declaration with a passionate gush of tears, and an
+intimation that she was not prepared to sacrifice the friendship of
+Mary, whom she believed to be quite as good as herself.
+
+"It must be done, Jane. Your father has the best of reasons for
+desiring it, and I hope you will not think for a moment of opposing
+his wishes."
+
+"He doesn't know Mary as I know her. His prejudices have no
+foundation in truth," said Jane.
+
+"No matter how pure she may be," replied the mother, "she has
+already introduced you into bad company. A virtuous young lady
+should blush to be seen in the street with the man who came home
+with you to-day."
+
+"Who, Mr. Clement?" inquired Jane.
+
+"Yes, John Clement. His bad conduct is so notorious as to exclude
+him entirely from the families of many persons, who have the
+independence to mark with just reprehension his evil deeds. It
+grieves me to think that you were not instinctively repelled by him
+the moment he approached you."
+
+Jane's manner changed at these words. But the change did not clearly
+indicate to her mother what was passing in her mind. From that
+moment she met with silence nearly every thing that her mother said.
+
+Early on the next day Mary Halloran called for Jane, as she was
+regularly in the habit of doing. Mrs. Leland purposely met her at
+the door, and when she inquired for Jane, asked her, with an air of
+cold politeness, to excuse her daughter, as she was engaged.
+
+"Not engaged to _me_," said Mary, evincing surprise.
+
+"You must excuse her, Miss Halloran; she is engaged this morning,"
+returned the mother, with as much distance and formality as at
+first.
+
+Mary Halloran turned away, evidently offended.
+
+"Ah me!" sighed Mrs. Leland, as she closed the door upon the giddy
+young girl; "how much trouble has my indiscreetness cost me. My
+husband was right, and I felt that he was right; but, in the face of
+his better judgment, I sought the acquaintance of this woman, and
+now, where the consequences are to end, heaven only knows."
+
+"Was that Mary Halloran?" inquired Jane, who came down stairs as her
+mother returned along the passage.
+
+"It was," replied the mother.
+
+"Why did she go away?"
+
+"I told her you were engaged."
+
+"Why, mother!" Jane seemed greatly disturbed.
+
+"It is your father's wish as well as mine," said Mrs. Leland calmly,
+"that all intercourse between you and this young lady cease, and for
+reasons that I have tried to explain to you. She is one whose
+company you cannot keep without injury."
+
+Jane answered with tears, and retired to her chamber, where she
+wrote a long and tender letter to Mary, explaining her position.
+This letter she got the chambermaid to deliver, and bribed her to
+secrecy. Mary replied, in an epistle full of sympathy for her
+unhappy condition, and full of indignation at the harsh judgment of
+her parents in regard to herself. The letter contained various
+suggestions in regard to the manner in which Jane ought to conduct
+herself, none of them at all favorable to submission and concluded
+with warm attestations of friendship.
+
+From that time an active correspondence took place between the young
+ladies, and occasional meetings at times when the parents of Jane
+supposed her to be at the houses of some of their friends.
+
+As for Mrs. Halloran, she was seriously offended at the sudden
+repulse both she and her daughter had met, and spared no pains, and
+let no opportunity go unimproved, for saying hard things of Mrs.
+Leland and her family. Even while Mary was carrying on a tender and
+confidential correspondence with Jane, she was hinting disreputable
+things against the thoughtless girl, and doing her a serious injury.
+
+The first intimation that the parents had of any thing being wrong,
+was the fact that two very estimable ladies, for whom they had a
+high respect, and with whose daughters Jane was on terms of
+intimacy, twice gave Jane the same answer that Mrs. Leland had given
+Mary Halloran; thus virtually saying to her that they did not wish
+her to visit their daughters. Both Mr. and Mrs. Leland, when Jane
+mentioned these occurrences, left troubled. Not long after, a large
+party was given by one of the ladies, but no invitations were sent
+to either Mr. or Mrs. Leland, or their daughter. This was felt to be
+an intended omission.
+
+After long and serious reflection on the subject, Mrs. Leland felt
+it to be her duty, as a parent, to see this lady, and frankly ask
+the reason of her conduct towards Jane, as well as toward her and
+her husband. She felt called upon to do this, in order to ascertain
+if there were not some things injurious to her daughter in common
+report. The lady seemed embarrassed on meeting Mrs. Leland, but the
+latter, without any excitement, or the appearance of being in the
+least offended, spoke of what had occurred, and then said--
+
+"Now, there must be a reason for this. Will you honestly tell me
+what it is?"
+
+The lady seemed confused and hesitated.
+
+"Do not fear to speak plainly, my dear madam. Tell me the whole
+truth. There is something wrong, and I ought to know it. Put
+yourself in my place, and you will not long hesitate what to do."
+
+"It is a delicate and painful subject for me to speak of to you,
+Mrs. Leland."
+
+"No matter. Speak out without disguise."
+
+After some reflection, the lady said--
+
+"I have daughters, and am tremblingly alive to their good. I feel it
+to be my duty to protect them from all associations likely to do
+them an injury. Am I not right in this?"
+
+"Undoubtedly."
+
+"There is one young man in this city whose very name should shock
+the ear of innocence and purity. I mean Clement."
+
+"You cannot think worse of him than I do."
+
+"And yet, I am told, Mrs. Leland, that your daughter may be seen on
+the street with him almost every day; and not only on the streeet,
+but at balls, concerts, and the theatre."
+
+"Who says so?"
+
+"I have heard it from several," replied the lady, speaking slower
+and more thoughtfully. "Mrs. Halloran mentioned it to the person who
+first told me; and, since then, I have frequently heard it spoken
+of."
+
+In answer to this, Mrs. Leland related the whole history of her
+intercourse with Mrs. Halloran, and the cause of its interruption.
+She then said--
+
+"Once, only, are we aware of our daughter's having met this young
+man. Since then, she has gone out but rarely, and has not been from
+home a single evening, unless in our company; so that the broad
+charge of association with Clement is unfounded, and has had its
+origin in a malignant spirit."
+
+"I understand it all, now, clearly," replied the lady. "Mrs.
+Halloran is a woman of no principle. You have deeply offended her,
+and she takes this method of being revenged."
+
+"That is the simple truth. I was urged by my husband not to call
+upon her when she moved in our square, but I felt it to be only
+right to visit her as a neighbor."
+
+"A woman like Mrs. Halloran is not to be regarded as a neighbor,"
+replied the lady.
+
+"So my husband argued, but I was blind enough to think differently,
+and to act as I thought. Dearly enough am I paying for my folly.
+Where the consequences will end is more than I can tell."
+
+"We may be able to counteract them to a certain extent," said the
+lady. "Understanding as I now do, clearly, your position toward Mrs.
+Halloran, I will be able to neutralize a great deal that she says.
+But I am afraid your daughter is misleading you in some things, and
+giving color to what is said of her."
+
+"How so?" asked Mrs. Leland in surprise.
+
+"Was she out yesterday?"
+
+"Yes. She went to see her cousins in the morning."
+
+"One of my daughters says she met her in the street, in company with
+the very individual of whom we are speaking."
+
+"Impossible!"
+
+"My daughter says she is not mistaken," returned the lady.
+
+Mrs. Leland's distress of mind, as to this intelligence, may be
+imagined. On returning home, she found that Jane had gone out during
+her absence. She went up into her daughter's room, and found a note
+addressed to Jane lying upon her table. After some reflection, she
+felt it to be her duty to open the note, which she did. It was from
+Mary Halloran, and in these words:--
+
+"MY SWEET FRIEND,--I saw Mr. Clement last night at the opera. He had
+a great deal to say about you, and uttered many flattering
+compliments on your beauty. He says that he would like to meet you
+to-morrow evening, and will be at the corner of Eighth and Pine
+streets at half past seven o'clock. Can you get away at that time,
+without exciting suspicion? If you can, don't fail to meet him, as
+he is very desirous that you should do so. I was delighted with the
+opera, and wished a hundred times that you were with me to enjoy it.
+
+"Yours, forever,
+
+"MARY."
+
+Mrs. Leland clasped her hands together, and leaned forward upon the
+bureau near which she had been standing, scarcely able to sustain
+her own weight. It was many minutes before she could think clearly.
+After much reflection, she thought it best not to say anything to
+Jane about the note. This course was approved by Mr. Leland, who
+believed with his wife, that it was better that Jane should be kept
+in ignorance of its contents, at least until the time mentioned for
+her joining Clement had passed. Both the parents were deeply
+troubled; and bitterly did Mrs. Leland repent her folly in making
+the acquaintance of their new neighbor, simply because she was a
+neighbor according to proximity.
+
+It was after seven o'clock when the tea bell rang that evening. Mr.
+and Mrs. Leland descended to the dining-room, and took their places
+at the table.
+
+"Where is Jane?" asked Mrs. Leland, after they had been seated a few
+moments.
+
+"She went out five or ten minutes ago," replied the waiter.
+
+Both the mother and father started, with exclamations of surprise
+and alarm, from the table. Mr. Leland seized his hat and cane, and
+rushing from the house, ran at full speed toward the place which
+Clement had appointed for a meeting with his daughter. He arrived in
+time to see a lady hastily enter a carriage, followed by a man. The
+carriage drove off rapidly. A cab was passing near him at the time,
+to the driver of which he called in an excited voice.
+
+"Do you see that carriage?" Mr. Leland said eagerly, as the man
+reined up his horse. "Keep within sight of it until it stops, and I
+will give you ten dollars."
+
+"Jump in," returned the driver. "I'll keep in sight."
+
+For nearly a quarter of an hour the wheels of the cab rattled in the
+ears of Mr. Leland. It then stopped, and the anxious father sprang
+out upon the pavement. The carriage had drawn up a little in
+advance, and a lady was descending from it, assisted by a man. Mr.
+Leland knew the form of his daughter. Ere the young lady and her
+attendant could cross the pavement, he had confronted them. Angry
+beyond the power of control, he seized the arm of Jane with one
+hand, and, as he drew away from her companion, knocked him down with
+a tremendous blow from the cane which he held in the other. Then
+dragging, or rather carrying, his frightened daughter to the cab,
+thrust her in, and, as he followed after, gave the driver the
+direction of his house, and ordered him to go there at the quickest
+speed. Jane either was, or affected to be, unconscious, when she
+arrived at home.
+
+Two days after, this paragraph appeared in one of the daily papers.
+
+"SAVED FROM THE BRINK OF RUIN.--A young man of notoriously bad
+character, yet connected with one of our first families, recently
+attempted to draw aside from virtue an innocent but thoughtless and
+unsuspecting girl, the daughter of a respectable citizen. He
+appointed a meeting with her in the street at night, and she was mad
+enough to join him at the hour mentioned. Fortunately it happened
+that the father, by some means, received intelligence of what was
+going on, and hurried to the place. He arrived in time to see them
+enter a carriage and drive off. He followed in another carriage, and
+when they stopped before a house, well known to be one of evil
+repute, he confronted them on the pavement, knocked the young
+villain down, and carried his daughter off home. We forbear to
+mention names, as it would do harm, rather than good, the young lady
+being innocent of any evil intent, and unsuspicious of wrong in her
+companion. We hope it will prove a lesson that she will never
+forget. She made a most fortunate escape."
+
+When Jane Leland was shown this paragraph, she shuddered and turned
+pale; and the shudder went deeper, and her cheek became still paler,
+a few weeks later when the sad intelligence came that Mary Halloran
+had fallen into the same snare that had been laid for her feet; a
+willing victim too many believed, for she was not ignorant of
+Clement's real character.
+
+By sad experience Mrs. Leland was taught the folly of any weak
+departure from what is clearly seen to be a right course of action;
+and she understood, better than she had ever done before, the
+oft-repeated remark of her husband that "only those whose principles
+and conduct we approve are to be considered, in any true sense,
+neighbors."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+NOT AT HOME.
+
+
+
+
+
+JONAS BEBEE has one merit, if he possesses no other, and that is,
+the merit of being able to make himself completely at home with all
+his friends, male or female, high or low, rich or poor, under any
+and all circumstances. His good opinion of himself leaves no room
+for his imagination to conceive the idea, that possibly there may
+be, in his character, certain peculiarities not agreeable to all. It
+never occurs to him, that he may chance to make a _mal apropos_
+visit, nor that the prolongation of a call may be a serious
+annoyance; for he is so entirely satisfied with himself that he is
+sure every one else must feel his presence as a kind of sunshine.
+
+Of course, such being the character of Mr. Jonas Bebee, it may
+readily be inferred that he is very likely to commit an occasional
+mistake, and blunder, though unconsciously, into the commission of
+acts most terribly annoying to others. His evening calls upon ladies
+generally produce a marked effect upon those specially selected for
+the favor. The character of the effect will appear in the following
+little scene, which we briefly sketch--
+
+"Gentleman in the parlor," says a servant coming into a room where
+two or three young ladies sit sewing or reading.
+
+"Who is he?" is the natural inquiry.
+
+"Mr. Bebee."
+
+"Goodness!"
+
+"Say we are not at home, Kitty."
+
+"No--no, Kitty, you mustn't say that," interposes one. "Tell him the
+ladies will be down in a little while."
+
+Kitty accordingly retires.
+
+"I'm not going down," says one, more self willed and independent
+than the rest.
+
+You've as much right to be annoyed with him as we have," is replied
+to this.
+
+"I don't care."
+
+"I wish he'd stay away from here. Nobody wants him."
+
+"He's after you, Aggy."
+
+"After me!" replied Agnes. "Goodness knows I don't want him. I hate
+the very sight of him!"
+
+"It's no use fretting ourselves over the annoyance, we've got to
+endure it," says one of the young ladies. "So, come, let's put on
+the best face possible."
+
+"You can go, Cara, if you choose, but I'm in no hurry; nor will he
+be in any haste to go. Say to him that I'll be along in the course
+of half an hour."
+
+"No, you must all make your own apologies."
+
+In the meantime Mr. Bebee patiently awaits the arrival of the
+ladies, who make their appearance, one after the other, some time
+during the next half hour. He compliments them, asks them to sing
+and play, and leads the conversation until towards eleven o'clock,
+when he retires in the best possible humor with himself and the
+interesting young ladies favored with his presence. He has not even
+a distant suspicion of the real truth, that his visit was considered
+an almost unendurable infliction.
+
+Mr. Bebee's morning calls are often more unwelcome. He walks in, as
+a matter of course, takes his seat in the parlor, and sends up his
+name by the servant. If told that the lady is not at home, a
+suspicion that it may not be so does not cross his mind; for he
+cannot imagine it possible that any one would make such an excuse in
+order to avoid seeing _him_. Should the lady not be willing to utter
+an untruth, nor feel independent enough to send word that she is
+engaged, an hour's waste of time, at least, must be her penalty; for
+Mr. Bebee's morning calls are never of shorter duration. He knows,
+as well as any one, that visits of politeness should be brief; but
+he is on such familiar terms with all his friends, that he can waive
+all ceremony--and he generally does so, making himself "at home," as
+he says, wherever he goes.
+
+One day Mr. Jonas Bebee recollected that he had not called upon a
+certain Mrs. Fairview, for some weeks; and as the lady was, like
+most of his acquaintances, a particular friend, he felt that he was
+neglecting her. So he started forth to make her a call.
+
+It was Saturday, and Mrs. Fairview, after having been, for the
+greater part of the morning, in the kitchen making cake, came up to
+the parlor to dust and re-arrange some of the articles there a
+little more to her liking. Her hair was in papers, and her morning
+wrapper not in a very elegant condition, having suffered a little
+during the cake-making process. It was twelve o'clock, and Mrs.
+Fairview was about leaving the parlor, when some one rung the bell.
+Gliding noiselessly to the window, she obtained a view of Mr. Bebee.
+
+"O, dear!" she sighed, "am I to have this infliction to-day? But
+it's no use; I won't see him!"
+
+By this time the servant was moving along the passage towards the
+door.
+
+"Hannah!" called the lady, in a whisper, beckoning at the same time
+with her hand.
+
+Hannah came into the parlor.
+
+"Say I'm not at home, Hannah."
+
+"Yes, ma'am," replied the girl, who proceeded on towards the street
+door, while Mrs. Fairview remained in the parlor.
+
+"Is Mrs. Fairview in?" the latter heard the visitor ask.
+
+"No, sir," replied Hannah.
+
+"Not in?"
+
+"No, sir. She's gone out."
+
+By this time Mr. Bebee stood within the vestibule.
+
+"O, well; I reckon I'll just drop in and wait awhile. No doubt
+she'll be home, soon."
+
+"I don't think she will return before two o'clock," said Hannah,
+knowing that her mistress, looking more like a scarecrow than a
+genteel lady, was still in the parlor, and seeing that the visiter
+was disposed to pass her by and make himself a temporary occupant of
+the same room.
+
+"No matter," returned the gentleman, "I'll just step in for a little
+while and enjoy myself by the parlor fire. It's a bitter cold
+day--perhaps she will be home sooner."
+
+"O, no, sir. She told me that she would not come back until
+dinner-time," said the anxious Hannah, who fully appreciated the
+dilemma in which her mistress would find herself, should Mr. Bebee
+make his way into the parlor.
+
+"It's no consequence. You can just say to her, if she does not
+return while I am here, that I called and made myself at home for
+half an hour or so." And with this, Mr. Bebee passed by the girl,
+and made his way towards the parlor.
+
+In despair, Hannah ran back to her place in the kitchen, wondering
+what her mistress would say or do when Mr. Bebee found that she was
+at home--and, moreover, in such a plight!
+
+In the meantime, Mrs. Fairview, who had been eagerly listening to
+what passed between Hannah and the visiter, finding that he was
+about invading her parlor, and seeing no way of escape, retreated
+into a little room, or office, built off from and communicating only
+with the parlor. As she entered this room and shut the door, the
+cold air penetrated her garments and sent a chill through her frame.
+There was no carpet on the floor of this little box of a place, and
+it contained neither sofa, chair, nor anything else to sit upon.
+Moreover, it had but a single door, and that one led into the
+parlor. Escape, therefore, was cut off, entirely; and to remain long
+where she was could not be done except at the risk of taking a
+severe cold.
+
+Through the openings in a Venitian blind that was hung against the
+glass door, Mrs. Fairview saw the self-satisfied Mr. Bebee draw up
+the large cushioned chair before the grate, and with a book in his
+hand, seat himself comfortably and begin to make himself entirely
+"at home." The prospect was, that he would thus remain "at home,"
+for at least the next half hour, if not longer. What was she to do?
+The thermometer was almost down to zero, and she was dressed for a
+temperature of seventy.
+
+"I shall catch my death a cold," she sighed, as the chilly air
+penetrated her garments, and sent a shudder through her frame.
+
+Comfortably, and as much at home as if he were in his own parlor,
+sat Mr. Bebee in front of the roaring grate, rocking himself in the
+great arm-chair, and enjoying a new book which he had found upon the
+table.
+
+As Mrs. Fairview looked at him, and saw the complete repose and
+satisfaction of his manner, she began to feel in utter despair.
+Already her teeth were beginning to chatter, and she was shivering
+as if attacked by a fit of ague. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes
+elapsed--but there sat the visiter, deeply absorbed in his book; and
+there stood the unfortunate lady who was "not at home," so benumbed
+with cold as almost to have lost the sense of bodily feeling. A
+certain feeling in the throat warned her that she was taking cold,
+and would, in all probability, suffer from inflammation of the
+windpipe and chest. Five, ten, fifteen minutes more went by; but Mr.
+Beebe did not move from his place. He was far too comfortable to
+think of that.
+
+At last after remaining in prison for nearly an hour, Mrs. Fairview,
+who by this time was beginning to suffer, besides excessive fatigue,
+from a sharp pain through her breast to her left shoulder blade, and
+who was painfully aware that she had taken a cold that would, in all
+probability, put her in bed for a week, determined to make her
+escape at all hazards. Mr. Beebe showed no disposition to go, and
+might remain for an hour longer. Throwing an apron over her head and
+face, she softly opened the door, and gliding past her visiter,
+escaped into the hall, and ran panting up stairs. Mr. Beebe raised
+his head at this unexpected invasion of the parlor, but on
+reflection concluded that the person who so suddenly appeared and
+disappeared was merely a servant in the family.
+
+About an hour afterwards, finding that Mrs. Fairview did not return,
+Mr. Beebe left his card on the table, and departed in his usual
+comfortable state of mind.
+
+Poor Mrs. Fairview paid dearly for her part in this transaction. A
+severe attack of inflammation of the lungs followed, which came near
+resulting in death. It was nearly three weeks before she was able to
+leave her room, and then her physician said she must not venture out
+before the mild weather of the opening spring.
+
+A few days after the lady was able to go about the house again, Mr.
+Bebee called to congratulate her on her recovery. Two of her
+children were in the parlor; one eleven years old, and the other a
+child in her fourth year.
+
+"O, you naughty man, you!" exclaimed the latter, the moment she saw
+Mr. Bebee. The oldest of the two children, who understood in a
+moment what her little sister meant, whispered: "H-u-s-h!--h-u-s-h!
+Mary!"
+
+"What am I naughty about, my little sis?" said Mr. Bebee.
+
+"O, because you are a naughty man! You made my mother sick, so you
+did! And mother says she never wants to look in your face again. You
+are a naughty man!"
+
+"Mary! Mary! Hush! hush!" exclaimed the elder sister, trying to stop
+the child.
+
+"Made your mother sick?" said Mr. Bebee. "How did I do that?"
+
+"Why, you shut her up in that little room there, all in the cold,
+when you were here and staid so long, one day. And it made her
+sick--so it did."
+
+"Shut her up in that room! what does the child mean?" said Mr.
+Bebee, speaking to the elder sister.
+
+"Mary! Mary! I'm ashamed of you. Come away!" was the only response
+made to this.
+
+Mr. Bebee was puzzled. He asked himself as to the meaning of this
+strange language. All at once, he remembered that after he had been
+sitting in the parlor for an hour, on the occasion referred to, some
+one had come out of the little room referred to by the child, and
+swept past him almost as quick as a flash. But it had never once
+occurred to him that this was the lady he had called to visit, who,
+according to the servant, was not at home.
+
+"I didn't shut your mother up in that room, Mary," said he, to the
+child.
+
+"O, but you did. And she got cold, and almost died."
+
+At this the elder sister, finding that she could do nothing with
+little Mary, escaped from the parlor, and running up stairs, made a
+report to her mother of what was going on below.
+
+"Mercy!" exclaimed the lady, in painful surprise.
+
+"She told him that you said you never wanted to look upon his face
+again," said the little girl.
+
+"She did!"
+
+"Yes. And she is telling him a great deal more. I tried my best to
+make her stop, but couldn't."
+
+"Rachel! Go down and bring that child out of the parlor!" said Mrs.
+Fairview, to a servant. "It is too bad! I had no idea that the
+little witch knew anything about it. So much for talking before
+children!"
+
+"And so much for not being at home when you are," remarked a sister
+of Mrs. Fairview, who happened to be present.
+
+"So much for having an acquaintance who makes himself at home in
+your house, whether you want him or not."
+
+"No doubt you are both sufficiently well punished."
+
+"I have been, I know."
+
+The heavy jar of the street door was heard at this moment.
+
+"He's gone, I do believe!"
+
+And so it proved. What else little Mary said to him was never known,
+as the violent scolding she received when her mother got hold of
+her, sealed her lips on the subject, or drove all impressions
+relating thereto from her memory.
+
+Mr. Bebee never called again.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE FATAL ERROR.
+
+
+
+
+
+"CLINTON!" said Margaret Hubert, with a look of supreme contempt.
+Don't speak of him to me, Lizzy. His very name is an offence to my
+ears!" and the lady's whole manner became disturbed.
+
+"He will be at the ball to-night, of course, and will renew his
+attentions," said the friend, in an earnest, yet quiet voice. "Now,
+for all your expressions of dislike, I have thought that you were
+really far from being indifferent to Mr. Clinton, and affected a
+repugnance at variance with your true feelings."
+
+"Lizzy, you will offend me if you make use of such language. I tell
+you he is hateful to me," replied Miss Hubert.
+
+"Of course, you ought to know your own state of mind best," said
+Lizzy Edgar. "If it is really as you say, I must confess that my
+observation has not been accurate. As to there being anything in Mr.
+Clinton to inspire an emotion of contempt, or create so strong a
+dislike as you express, I have yet to see it. To me he has ever
+appeared in the light of a gentleman."
+
+"Then suppose you make yourself agreeable to him, Lizzy," said Miss
+Hubert.
+
+"I try to make myself agreeable to every one," replied the
+even-minded girl. "That is a duty I owe to those with whom I
+associate."
+
+"Whether you like them or not?"
+
+"It doesn't follow, because I do not happen to like a person, that I
+should render myself disagreeable to him."
+
+"I never tolerate people that I don't like," said Miss Hubert.
+
+"We needn't associate too intimately with those who are disagreeable
+to us," returned her friend; "but when we are thrown together in
+society, the least we can do is to be civil."
+
+"You may be able to disguise your real feelings, but I cannot.
+Whatever emotion passes over my mind is seen in my face and
+discovered in my tone of voice. All who know me see me as I am."
+
+And yet, notwithstanding this affirmation, Margaret Hubert did not,
+at all times, display her real feelings. And her friend Lizzy Edgar
+was right in assuming that she was by no means indifferent to Mr.
+Clinton. The appearance of dislike was assumed as a mask, and the
+distance and reserve she displayed towards him were the offspring of
+a false pride and unwomanly self-esteem. The truth was, her heart
+had, almost unsought, been won. The manly bearing, personal grace
+and brilliant mind of Philip Clinton, had captivated her feelings
+and awakened an emotion of love ere she was conscious that her heart
+was in danger. And she had even leaned towards him instinctively,
+and so apparently that the young man observed it, and was attracted
+thereby. The moment, however, he became at all marked in his
+attentions, the whole manner of Margaret changed. She was then aware
+of the rashness she had displayed, and her pride instantly took the
+alarm. Reserve, dignity, and even hauteur, characterized her bearing
+towards Clinton; and to those who spoke of him as a lover, she
+replied in terms nearly similar to what she used to her friend Lizzy
+Edgar, on the occasion to which reference has just been made.
+
+All this evidenced weakness of mind as well as pride. She wished to
+be sought before she was won--at least, that was the language she
+used to herself. Her lover must come, like a knight of old, and sue
+on bended knee for favor.
+
+Clinton observed the marked change in her manner. Fortunately for
+his peace of mind, he was not so deeply in love as to be very
+seriously distressed. He had admired her beauty, her
+accomplishments, and the winning grace of her manners; and more, had
+felt his heart beginning to warm towards her. But the charm with
+which she had been invested, faded away the moment the change of
+which we have spoken became apparent. He was not a man of strong,
+ungovernable impulses; all his passions were under the control of
+right reason, and this gave him a clear judgment. Consequently, he
+was the last person in the world for an experiment such as Margaret
+Hubert was making. At first he thought there must be some mistake,
+and continued to offer the young lady polite attentions, coldly and
+distantly as they were received. He even went farther than his real
+feelings bore him out in going, and made particular advances, in
+order to be perfectly satisfied that there was no mistake about her
+dislike or repugnance.
+
+But there was one thing which at first Clinton did not understand.
+It was this. Frequently, when in company where Margaret was present,
+he would, if he turned his eyes suddenly upon her, find that she was
+looking at him with an expression which told him plainly that he was
+not indifferent to her. This occurred so often, and was so
+frequently attended with evident confusion on her part, that he
+began to have a suspicion of the real truth, and to feel disgust at
+so marked an exhibition of insincerity. Besides, the thought of
+being experimented upon in this way, did not in the least tend to
+soften his feelings towards the fair one. He believed in frankness,
+honesty and reciprocal sincerity. He liked a truthful, ingenuous
+mind, and turned instinctively from all artifice, coquetry or
+affectation.
+
+The game which Miss Hubert was playing had been in progress only a
+short time, when her friend Lizzy Edgar, who was on terms of close
+intimacy, spent the day with her, occupying most of the time in
+preparation for a fancy ball that was to come off that night. The
+two young ladies attired themselves with much care, each with a view
+to effect. Margaret looked particularly to the assumption of a
+certain dignity, and her costume for the evening had been chosen
+with that end in view. A ruff, and her grand-mother's rich silk
+brocade, did give to her tall person all the dignity she could have
+desired.
+
+At the proper time the father of Miss Hubert accompanied the young
+ladies to the ball, preparations for which had for some time been in
+progress. As soon almost as Margaret entered the room, her eyes
+began to wander about in search of Mr. Clinton. It was not long
+before she discovered him--nor long before his eyes rested upon and
+recognized her stately figure.
+
+"If she be playing a part, as I more than half suspect," said the
+young man to himself, "her performance will end to-night, so far as
+I am concerned."
+
+And with the remark, he moved towards that part of the room where
+the two young ladies were standing. Lizzy returned his salutations
+with a frank and easy grace, but Margaret drew herself up coldly,
+and replied to his remarks with brief formality. Clinton remained
+with them only long enough to pass a few compliments, and then moved
+away and mingled with the crowd in another part of the large saloon,
+where the gay company were assembled. During the next hour, he took
+occasion now and then to search out Margaret in the crowd, and more
+than once he found that her eyes were upon him.
+
+"Once more," he said, crossing the room and going up to where she
+was leaning upon the arm of an acquaintance.
+
+"May I have the pleasure of dancing with you in the next set?"
+
+"Thank you, sir," replied Margaret, with unbending dignity; "I am
+already engaged."
+
+Clinton bowed and turned away. The fate of the maiden was sealed.
+She had carried her experiment too far. As the young man moved
+across the room, he saw Lizzy Edgar sitting alone, her face lit up
+with interest as she noted the various costumes, and observed the
+ever-forming and dissolving tableaux that filled the saloon, and
+presented to the eye a living kaleidoscope.
+
+"Alone," he said, pausing before the warm-hearted, even tempered
+girl.
+
+"One cannot be alone here," she replied, with a sweet smile
+irradiating her countenance. "What a fairy scene it is," she added,
+as her eyes wandered from the face of Clinton and again fell upon
+the brilliant groups around them.
+
+"Have you danced this evening?" asked Clinton.
+
+"In one set," answered Lizzy.
+
+"Are you engaged for the next in which you may feel disposed to take
+the floor?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Then may I claim you for my partner?"
+
+"If it is your pleasure to do so," replied Lizzy, smiling.
+
+In a cotillion formed soon afterward in that part of the room, were
+Margaret Hubert and her sweet friend Lizzy Edgar. Margaret had a
+warmer color on her cheeks than usual, and her dignity towered up
+into an air of haughtiness, all of which Clinton observed. Its
+effect was to make his heart cold towards her, instead of awakening
+an ardent desire to win a proud and distant beauty.
+
+In vain did Margaret look for the young man to press forward, the
+moment the cotillion was dissolved, and claim her for the next. He
+lingered by the side of Miss Edgar, more charmed with her than he
+had ever been, until some one else came and engaged the hand of Miss
+Hubert. The disappointed and unhappy girl now unbent herself from
+the cold dignity that had marked her bearing since her entrance into
+the ball-room, and sought to win him to her side by the flashing
+brilliancy of her manners; but her efforts were unavailing. Clinton
+had felt the sweeter, purer, stronger attractions of one free from
+all artifice; and when he left her side, he had no wish to pass to
+that of one whose coldness had repelled, and whose haughtiness had
+insulted him.
+
+On the next day, when Lizzy called upon her friend, she found her in
+a very unhappy state of mind. As to the ball and the people who
+attended, she was exceedingly captious in all her remarks. When
+Clinton was mentioned, she spoke of him with a sneer. Lizzy hardly
+knew how to take her. Why the young man should be so offensive, she
+was at a loss to imagine, and honestly came to the conclusion that
+she had been mistaken in her previous supposition that Margaret
+really felt an interest in him.
+
+A few evenings only elapsed before Clinton called upon Miss Edgar,
+and from that time visited her regularly. An offer of marriage was
+the final result. This offer Lizzy accepted.
+
+The five or six months that elapsed from the time Clinton became
+particular in his attentions to Miss Edgar, until he formally
+declared himself a lover, passed with Margaret Herbert in one
+long-continued and wild struggle with her feelings. Conscious of her
+error, and madly conscious, because conviction had come too late,
+she wrestled vigorously, but in vain, with a passion that, but for
+her own folly, would have met a free and full return. Lizzy spoke to
+her of Clinton's marked attentions, but did not know how, like heavy
+and painful strokes, every word she uttered fell upon her heart. She
+saw that Margaret was far from being happy, and often tenderly urged
+her to tell the cause, but little dreamed of the real nature of her
+sufferings.
+
+At last Lizzy told her, with a glowing cheek, that Clinton had owned
+his love for her, and claimed her hand in marriage. For some moments
+after this communication was made, Margaret could offer no reply.
+Her heart trembled faintly in her bosom and almost ceased to beat;
+but she rallied herself, and concealed what she felt under warm
+congratulations. Lizzy was deceived, though in her friend's manner
+there was something that she could not fully comprehend.
+
+"You must be my bridesmaid," said the happy girl, a month or two
+afterwards.
+
+"Why not choose some one else?" asked Margaret.
+
+"Because I love you better than any friend I have," replied Lizzy,
+putting an arm around the neck of Margaret and kissing her.
+
+"No, no; I cannot--I cannot!" was the unexpressed thought of
+Margaret--while something like a shudder went over her. But the eyes
+of her friend did not penetrate the sad secret of her heart.
+
+"Come, dear, say yes. Why do you hesitate? I would hardly believe
+myself married if you were not by my side when the nuptial pledge
+was given."
+
+"It shall be as you wish," replied Margaret.
+
+"Perhaps you misunderstood me," said Lizzy, playfully; "I was not
+speaking of my funeral, but of my wedding."
+
+This sportive sally gave Margaret an opportunity to recover herself,
+which she did promptly; and never once, from that time until the
+wedding day of her friend arrived, did she by look or word betray
+what was in her heart.
+
+Intense was the struggle that went on in the mind of Margaret
+Hubert. But it was of no avail; she loved Clinton with a wild
+intensity that was only the more fervid from its hopelessness. But
+pride and a determined will concealed what neither could destroy.
+
+At last the wedding night of Lizzy Edgar arrived, and a large
+company assembled to witness the holy rite that was to be performed,
+and to celebrate the occasion with appropriate festivities.
+Margaret, when the morning of that day broke coldly and drearily
+upon her, felt so sad at heart that she wept, and, weeping, wished
+that she could die. There had been full time for reflection since,
+by her own acts, she had repulsed one in whom her heart felt a deep
+interest, and repulsed him with such imprudent force that he never
+returned to her again. Suffering had chastened her spirit, although
+it could not still the throbbings of pain. As the time approached
+when she must stand beside her friend and listen to vows of
+perpetual love that she would have given all the world, were it in
+her possession, to hear as her own, she felt that she was about
+entering upon a trial for which her strength would be little more
+than adequate.
+
+But there was no retreat now. The ordeal had to be passed through.
+At last the time of trial came, and she descended with her friend,
+and stood up with her before the minister of God, who was to say the
+fitting words and receive the solemn vows required in the marriage
+covenant. From the time Margaret took her place on the floor, she
+felt her power over herself failing. Most earnestly did she struggle
+for calmness and self-control, but the very fear that inspired this
+struggle made it ineffectual. When the minister in a deeply
+impressive voice, said, "I pronounce you husband and wife," her eyes
+grew dim, and her limbs trembled and failed; she sunk forward, and
+was only kept from falling by the arm of the minister, which was
+extended in time to save her.
+
+Twenty years have passed since that unhappy evening, and Margaret
+Hubert is yet unmarried. It was long before she could quench the
+fire that had burned so fiercely in her heart. When it did go out,
+the desolate hearth it left remained ever after cold and dark.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+FOLLOWING THE FASHIONS.
+
+
+
+
+
+"WHAT is this?" asked Henry Grove of his sister Mary, lifting, as he
+spoke, a print from the centre-table.
+
+"A fashion plate," was the quiet reply.
+
+"A fashion plate? What in the name of wonder, are you doing with a
+fashion plate?"
+
+"To see what the fashions are."
+
+"And what then?"
+
+"To follow them, of course."
+
+"Mary, is it possible you are so weak? I thought better of my
+sister."
+
+"Explain yourself, Mr. Censor," replied Mary with an arch look, and
+a manner perfectly self-possessed.
+
+"There is nothing I despise so much as a heartless woman of
+fashion."
+
+"Such an individual is certainly, not much to be admired, Henry. But
+there is a vast difference you must recollect, between a lady who
+regards the prevailing mode of dress and a _heartless_ woman, be she
+attired in the latest style, or in the costume of the times of good
+queen Bess. A fashionably dressed woman need not, of necessity, be
+heartless."
+
+"O no, of course not; nor did I mean to say so. But it is very
+certain, to my mind, that any one who follows the fashions cannot be
+very sound in the head. And where there is not much head, it seems
+to me there is never a superabundance of heart."
+
+"Quite a philosopher!"
+
+"You needn't try to beat me off by ridicule, Mary. I am in earnest."
+
+"What about?"
+
+"In condemning this blind slavery to fashion."
+
+"You follow the fashions."
+
+"No, Mary, I do not."
+
+"Your looks very much belie you, then."
+
+"Mary!"
+
+"Nonsense! Don't look so grave. What I say is true. You follow the
+fashion as much as I do."
+
+"I am sure I never examined a plate of fashions in my life."
+
+"If you have not, your tailor has for you, many a time."
+
+"I don't believe a word of it. I don't have my clothes cut in the
+height of the fashion. They are made plain and comfortable. There is
+nothing about them that is put on merely because it is fashionable."
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir."
+
+"It is a fact."
+
+"Why do you have your lappels made to roll three button-holes
+instead of two. There's father's old coat, made, I don't know when,
+that roll but two."
+
+"Because, I suppose, its now the fash--"
+
+"Ah, exactly! Didn't I get you there nicely?"
+
+"No, but Mary, that's the tailor's business, not mine."
+
+"Of course,--you trust to him to make you clothes according to the
+fashion, while I choose to see if the fashions are just such as
+suits my stature, shape, and complexion, that I may adopt them
+fullly, or deviate from them in a just and rational manner. So there
+is this difference between us; you follow the fashions blindly, and
+I with judgment and discrimination!"
+
+"Indeed, Mary, you are too bad."
+
+"Do I speak anything but the truth?"
+
+"I should be very sorry, indeed, if your deductions were true in
+regard to my following the fashions so blindly, if indeed at all."
+
+"But don't you follow them?"
+
+"I never think about them."
+
+"If you don't, somehow or other, you manage to be always about even
+with the prevailing modes. I don't see any difference between your
+dress and that of other young men."
+
+"I don't care a fig for the fashions, Mary!" rejoined Henry,
+speaking with some warmth.
+
+"So you say."
+
+"And so I mean."
+
+"Then why do you wear fashionable clothes?"
+
+"I don't wear fashionable clothes--that is--I----"
+
+"You have figured silk or cut velvet buttons, on your coat, I
+believe. Let me see? Yes. Now, lasting buttons are more durable, and
+I remember very well when you wore them. But they are out of
+fashion! And here is your collar turned down over your black satin
+stock, (where, by the by, have all the white cravats gone, that were
+a few years ago so fashionable?) as smooth as a puritan's! Don't you
+remember how much trouble you used to have, sometimes, to get your
+collar to stand up just so? Ah, brother, you are an incorrigible
+follower of the fashions!"
+
+"But, Mary, it is a great deal less trouble to turn the collar over
+the stock."
+
+"I know it is, now that it is fashionable to do so."
+
+"It is, though, in fact."
+
+"Really?"
+
+"Yes, really."
+
+"But when it was fashionable to have the collar standing, you were
+very willing to take the trouble."
+
+"You would not have me affect singularity, sister?"
+
+"Me? No, indeed! I would have you continue to follow the fashions as
+you are now doing. I would have you dress like other people. And
+there is one other thing that I would like to see in you."
+
+"What is that."
+
+"I would like to see you willing to allow me the same privilege."
+
+"You have managed your case so ingeniously, Mary," her brother now
+said, "as to have beaten me in argument, though I am very sure that
+I am right, and you in error, in regard to the general principle. I
+hold it to be morally wrong to follow the fashions. They are
+unreasonable and arbitrary in their requirements, and it is a
+species of miserable folly, to be led about by them. I have
+conversed a good deal with old aunt Abigail on the subject, and she
+perfectly agrees with me. Her opinions, you can not, of course,
+treat with indifference?"
+
+"No, not my aunt's. But for all that, I do not think that either she
+or uncle Absalom is perfectly orthodox on all matters."
+
+"I think that they can both prove to you beyond a doubt that it is a
+most egregious folly to be ever changing with the fashions."
+
+"And I think that I can prove to them that they are not at all
+uninfluenced by the fickle goddess."
+
+"Do so, and I will give up the point. Do so and I will avow myself
+an advocate of fashion."
+
+"As you are now in fact. But I accept your challenge, even though
+the odds of age and numbers are against me. I am very much mistaken,
+indeed, if I cannot maintain my side of the argument, at least to my
+own satisfaction."
+
+"You may do that probably; but certainly not to ours."
+
+"We will see," was the laughing reply.
+
+It was a few evenings after, that Henry Grove and his sister called
+in to see uncle Absalom and aunt Abigail, who were of the old
+school, and rather ultra-puritanical in their habits and notions.
+Mary could not but feel, as she came into their presence, that it
+would be rowing against wind and tide to maintain her point with
+them--confirmed as they were in their own views of things, and with
+the respect due to age to give weight to their opinions.
+Nevertheless, she determined resolutely to maintain her own side of
+the question, and to use all the weapons, offensive and defensive,
+that came to her hand. She was a light-hearted girl, with a high
+flow of spirits, and a quick and discriminating mind. All these were
+in her favor. The contest was not long delayed, for Henry, feeling
+that he had powerful auxiliaries on his side, was eager to see his
+own positions triumph, as he was sure that they must. The welcome
+words that greeted their entrance had not long been said, before he
+asked, turning to his aunt,--
+
+"What do you think I found on Mary's table, the other day, Aunt
+Abigail?"
+
+"I don't know, Henry. What was it?"
+
+"You will be surprised to hear,--a fashion plate! And that is not
+all. By her own confession, she was studying it in order to conform
+to the prevailing style of dress. Hadn't you a better opinion of
+her?"
+
+"I certainly had," was aunt Abigail's half smiling, half grave
+reply.
+
+"Why, what harm is there in following the fashions, aunt?" Mary
+asked.
+
+"A great deal, my dear. It is following after the vanities of this
+life. The apostle tells us not to be conformed to this world."
+
+"I know he does; but what has that to do with the fashions? He
+doesn't say that you shall not wear fashionable garments; at least I
+never saw the passage."
+
+"But that is clearly what he means, Mary."
+
+"I doubt it. Let us hear what he further says; perhaps that will
+guide us to a truer meaning?"
+
+"He says: 'But be ye transformed by the renewing of your minds.'
+That elucidates and gives force to what goes before."
+
+"So I think, clearly upsetting your position. The apostle evidently
+has reference to a deeper work than mere _external_ non-conformity
+in regard to the cut of the coat, or the fashion of the dress. Be ye
+not conformed to this world in its selfish, principles and
+maxims--be ye not as the world, lovers of self more than lovers of
+God--but be ye transformed by the renewing of your minds. That is
+the way I understand him."
+
+"Then you understand him wrong, Mary," uncle Absalom spoke up. "If
+he had meant that, he would have said it in plain terms."
+
+"And so he has, it seems to me. But I am not disposed to excuse my
+adherence to fashion upon any passage that allows of two
+interpretations. I argue for it upon rational grounds."
+
+"Fashion and rationality! The idea is absurd, Mary!" said uncle
+Absalom, with warmth. "They are antipodes."
+
+"Not by any means, uncle, and I think I can make it plain to you."
+
+Uncle Absalom shook his head, and aunt Abigail fidgeted in her
+chair.
+
+"You remember the celebrated John Wesley--the founder of that once
+unfashionable people, the Methodists?" Mary asked.
+
+"O, yes."
+
+"What would you think if I proved to you that he was an advocate for
+fashion upon rational principles?"
+
+"You can't do it."
+
+"I can. On one occasion, it is related of him, that he called upon a
+tailor to make him a coat. 'How will you have it made?' asked the
+tailor. 'O, make it like other people's,' was the reply. 'Will you
+have the sleeves in the new fashion?' 'I don't know, what is it?'
+'They have been made very tight, you know, for some time,' the
+tailor said, 'but the newest fashion is loose sleeves.' 'Loose
+sleeves, ah? Well, they will be a great deal more comfortable than
+these. Make mine loose.' What do you think of that, uncle? Do you
+see no rationality there?"
+
+"Yes, but Mary," replied aunt Abigail, "fashion and comfort hardly
+ever go together."
+
+"There you are mistaken, aunt. Most fashionable dress-makers aim at
+producing garments comfortable to the wearers; and those fashions
+which are most comfortable, are most readily adopted by the largest
+numbers."
+
+"You certainly do not pretend to say, Mary," Henry interposed, "that
+all changes in fashions are improvements in comfort?"
+
+"O no, certainly not. Many, nay, most of the changes are unimportant
+in that respect."
+
+"And are the inventions and whims of fashion makers," added aunt
+Abigail with warmth.
+
+"No doubt of it," Mary readily admitted.
+
+"And you are such a weak, foolish girl, as to adopt, eagerly, every
+trifling variation in fashion?" continued aunt Abigail.
+
+"No, not eagerly, aunt."
+
+"But at all?"
+
+"I adopt a great many, certainly, for no other reason than because
+they are fashionable."
+
+"For shame, Mary, to make such an admission! I really thought better
+of you."
+
+"But don't you follow the fashions, aunt?"
+
+"Why Mary," exclaimed both uncle Absalom and her brother, at once.
+
+"Me follow the fashions, Mary?" broke in aunt Abigail, as soon as
+she could recover her breath, for the question struck her almost
+speechless. "Me follow the fashions? Why, what can the girl mean?"
+
+"I asked the question," said Mary. "And if you can't answer it, I
+can."
+
+"And how will you answer it, pray?"
+
+"In the affirmative, of course."
+
+"You are trifling, now, Mary," said uncle Absalom, gravely.
+
+"Indeed I am not, uncle. I can prove to her satisfaction and yours,
+too, that aunt Abigail is almost as much a follower of the fashions
+as I am."
+
+"For shame, child!"
+
+"I can though, uncle; so prepare yourself to be convinced. Did you
+never see aunt wear a different shaped cap from the one she now has
+on?"
+
+"O yes, I suppose so. I don't take much notice of such things. But I
+believe she has changed the pattern of her cap a good many times."
+
+"And what if I have, pray?" asked aunt Abigail, fidgeting uneasily.
+
+"O, nothing, only that in doing so, you were following some new
+fashion," replied Mary.
+
+"It is no such thing!" said aunt Abigail.
+
+"I can prove it."
+
+"You can't."
+
+"Yes I can, and I will. Don't you remember when the high crowns were
+worn?"
+
+"Of course I do."
+
+"And you wore them, of course."
+
+"Well, suppose I did?"
+
+"And then came the close, low-crowned cap. I remember the very time
+you adopted that fashion, and thought it so much more becoming than
+the great tower of lace on the back part of the head."
+
+"And so it was."
+
+"But why didn't you think so before," asked Mary, looking archly
+into the face of her aunt.
+
+"Why--because-because--"
+
+"O, I can tell you, so you needn't search all over the world for a
+reason. It was because the high crowns were fashionable. Come out
+plain and aboveboard and say so."
+
+"Indeed, I won't say any such thing."
+
+"Then what was the reason?"
+
+"Every body wore them, and their unsightly appearance had not been
+made apparent by contrast."
+
+"Exactly! They were fashionable. But when a new fashion laughed them
+out of countenance, you cast them aside, as I do an old fashion for
+a new one. Then came the quilled border all around. Do you remember
+that change? and how, in a little while after, the plain piece of
+lace over your forehead disappeared? Why was that, aunt Abigail? Was
+there no regard for fashion there? And now, at this very time your
+cap is one that exhibits the latest and neatest style for old
+ladies' caps. I could go on and prove to your satisfaction, or at
+least to my own, that you have followed the fashion almost as
+steadily as I have. But I have sufficiently made out my case. Don't
+you think so, Henry?"
+
+Thus appealed to, her brother, who had been surprised at the turn
+the conversation had taken, not expecting to see Mary carry the war
+home so directly as she had done, hardly knew how to reply. He,
+however, gave a reluctant
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But there is some sense in your aunt's adoption of fashion," said
+uncle Absalom.
+
+"Though not much, it would seem in yours, if you estimate fashion by
+use," retorted Mary.
+
+"What does the girl mean?" asked aunt Abigail in surprise.
+
+"Of what use, uncle, are those two buttons on the back of your
+coat?"
+
+"I am sure I don't know."
+
+"Then why do you wear them if you don't know their use, unless it be
+that you wish to be in the fashion? Then there are two more at the
+bottom of the skirt, half hid, half seen, as if they were ashamed to
+be found so much out of their place. Then, can you enlighten me as
+to the use of these two pieces of cloth here, called, I believe,
+flaps?"
+
+"To give strength to that part of the coat, I presume."
+
+"And yet it is only a year or two since it was the fashion to have
+no flaps at all. I do not remember ever to have seen a coat torn
+there, do you? It is no use, uncle--you might as well be out of the
+world as out of the fashion. And old people feel this as well as
+young. They have their fashions, and we have ours, and they are as
+much the votaries of their peculiar modes as we are of our. The only
+difference is, that, as our states of mind change more rapidly,
+there is a corresponding and more rapid change in our fashions. You
+change as well as we do--but slower."
+
+"How could you talk to uncle Absalom and aunt Abigail as you did?"
+said Henry Grove to his sister, as they walked slowly home together.
+
+"Didn't I make out my point? Didn't I prove that they too were
+votaries of the fickle goddess?"
+
+"I think you did, in a measure."
+
+"And in a good measure too. So give up your point, as you promised,
+and confess yourself an advocate of fashion."
+
+"I don't see clearly how I can do that, notwithstanding all that has
+passed to-night; for I do not rationally perceive the use of all
+these changes in dress."
+
+"I am not certain that I can enlighten you fully on the subject; but
+think that I may, perhaps in a degree, if you will allow my views
+their proper weight in your mind."
+
+"I will try to do so; but shall not promise to be convinced."
+
+"No matter. Convinced or not convinced you will still be carried
+along by the current. As to the primary cause of the change in
+fashion it strikes me that it is one of the visible effects of that
+process of change ever going on in the human mind. The fashion of
+dress that prevails may not be the true exponent of the internal and
+invisible states, because they must necessarily be modified in
+various ways by the interests and false tastes of such individuals
+as promulgate them. Still, this does not affect the primary cause."
+
+"Granting your position to be true, Mary, which I am not fully
+prepared to admit or deny--why should we blindly follow these
+fashions?"
+
+"We need not _blindly_. For my part, I am sure that I do not blindly
+follow them."
+
+"You do when you adopt a fashion without thinking it becoming."
+
+"That I never do."
+
+"But, surely, you do not pretend to say that all fashions are
+becoming?"
+
+"All that prevail to any extent, appear so, during the time of their
+prevalence, unless they involve an improper exposure of the person,
+or are injurious to health."
+
+"That is singular."
+
+"But is it not true."
+
+"Perhaps it is. But how do you account for it?"
+
+"On the principle that there are both external and internal causes
+at work, modifying the mind's perceptions of the appropriate and
+beautiful."
+
+"Mostly external, I should think, such as a desire to be in the
+fashion, etc."
+
+"That feeling has its influence no doubt, and operates very
+strongly."
+
+"But is it a right feeling?"
+
+"It is right or wrong, according to the end in view. If fashion be
+followed from no higher view than a selfish love of being admired,
+then the feeling is wrong."
+
+"Can we follow fashion with any other end?"
+
+"Answer the question yourself. You follow the fashions."
+
+"I think but little about them, Mary."
+
+"And yet you dress very much like people who do."
+
+"That may be so. The reason is, I do not wish to be singular."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"For this reason. A man who affects any singularity of dress or
+manners, loses his true influence in society. People begin to think
+that there must be within, a mind not truly balanced and therefore
+do not suffer his opinions, no matter how sound, to have their true
+weight."
+
+"A very strong and just argument why we should adopt prevailing
+usages and fashions, if not immoral or injurious to health. They are
+the badges by which we are known--diplomas which give to our
+opinions their legitimate value. I could present this subject in
+many other points of view. But it would be of little avail, if you
+are determined not to be convinced."
+
+"I am not so determined, Mary. What you have already said, greatly
+modifies my view of the subject. I shall, at least, not ridicule
+your adherence to fashion, if I do not give much thought to it
+myself."
+
+"I will present one more view. A right attention to dress looks to
+the development of that which is appropriate and beautiful to the
+eye. This is a universal benefit. For no one can look upon a truly
+beautiful object in nature or art without having his mind
+correspondingly elevated and impressed with beautiful images, and
+these do not pass away like spectrums, but remain ever after more or
+less distinct, bearing with them an elevating influence upon the
+whole character. Changes in fashion, so far as they present new
+and beautiful forms, new arrangements, and new and appropriate
+combination of colors, are the dictates of a true taste, and so
+far do they tend to benefit society."
+
+"But fashion is not always so directed by true taste."
+
+"A just remark. And likewise a reason why all who have a right
+appreciation of the truly beautiful should give some attention to
+the prevailing fashion in dress, and endeavor to correct errors, and
+develop the true and the beautiful here as in other branches of
+art."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A DOLLAR ON THE CONSCIENCE.
+
+
+
+
+
+"FIFTY-FIVE cents a yard, I believe you said?" The customer was
+opening her purse.
+
+Now fifty cents a yard was the price of the goods, and so Mr.
+Levering had informed the lady. She misunderstood him, however.
+
+In the community, Mr. Levering had the reputation of being a
+conscientious, high-minded man. He knew that he was thus estimated,
+and self-complacently appropriated the good opinion as clearly his
+due.
+
+It came instantly to the lip of Mr. Levering to say, "Yes,
+fifty-five." The love of gain was strong in his mind, and ever ready
+to accede to new plans for adding dollar to dollar. But, ere the
+words were uttered, a disturbing perception of something wrong
+restrained him.
+
+"I wish twenty yards," said the customer taking it for granted that
+fifty-five cents was the price of the goods.
+
+Mr. Levering was still silent; though he commenced promptly to
+measure off the goods.
+
+"Not dear at that price," remarked the lady.
+
+"I think not," said the storekeeper. "I bought the case of goods
+from which this piece was taken very low."
+
+"Twenty yards at fifty-five cents! Just eleven dollars." The
+customer opened her purse as she thus spoke, and counted out the sum
+in glittering gold dollars. "That is right, I believe," and she
+pushed the money towards Mr. Levering, who, with a kind of automatic
+movement of his hand, drew forward the coin and swept it into his
+till.
+
+"Send the bundle to No. 300 Argyle Street," said the lady, with a
+bland smile, as she turned from the counter, and the half-bewildered
+store-keeper.
+
+"Stay, madam! there is a slight mistake!" The words were in Mr.
+Levering's thoughts, and on the point of gaining utterance, but he
+had not the courage to speak. He had gained a dollar in the
+transaction beyond his due, and already it was lying heavily on his
+conscience. Willingly would he have thrown it off; but when about to
+do so, the quick suggestion came, that, in acknowledging to the lady
+the fact of her having paid five cents a yard too much, he might
+falter in his explanation, and thus betray his attempt to do her
+wrong. And so he kept silence, and let her depart beyond recall.
+
+Any thing gained at the price of virtuous self-respect is acquired
+at too large a cost. A single dollar on the conscience may press so
+heavily as to bear down a man's spirits, and rob him of all the
+delights of life. It was so in the present case. Vain was it that
+Mr. Levering sought self-justification. Argue the matter as he
+would, he found it impossible to escape the smarting conviction that
+he had unjustly exacted a dollar from one of his customers. Many
+times through the day he found himself in a musing, abstracted
+state, and on rousing himself therefrom, became conscious, in his
+external thought, that it was the dollar by which he was troubled.
+
+"I'm very foolish," said he, mentally, as he walked homeward, after
+closing his store for the evening. "Very foolish to worry myself
+about a trifle like this. The goods were cheap enough at fifty-five,
+and she is quite as well contented with her bargain as if she had
+paid only fifty."
+
+But it would not do. The dollar was on his conscience, and he sought
+in vain to remove it by efforts of this kind.
+
+Mr. Levering had a wife and three pleasant children. They were the
+sunlight of his home. When the business of the day was over, he
+usually returned to his own fireside with buoyant feeling. It was
+not so on this occasion. There was a pressure on his bosom--a sense
+of discomfort--a want of self-satisfaction. The kiss of his wife,
+and the clinging arms of his children, as they were twined around
+his neck, did not bring the old delight.
+
+"What is the matter with you this evening, dear? Are you not well?"
+inquired Mrs. Levering, breaking in upon the thoughtful mood of her
+husband, as he sat in unwonted silence.
+
+I'm perfectly well," he replied, rousing himself, and forcing a
+smile.
+
+"You look sober."
+
+"Do I?" Another forced smile.
+
+"Something troubles you, I'm afraid."
+
+"O no; it's all in your imagination."
+
+"Are you sick, papa?" now asks a bright little fellow, clambering
+upon his knee.
+
+"Why no, love, I'm not sick. Why do you think so?"
+
+"Because you don't play horses with me."
+
+"Oh dear! Is that the ground of your suspicion?" replied the father,
+laughing. "Come! we'll soon scatter them to the winds."
+
+And Mr. Levering commenced a game of romps with the children. But he
+tired long before they grew weary, nor did he, from the beginning,
+enter into this sport with his usual zest.
+
+"Does your head ache, pa?" inquired the child who had previously
+suggested sickness, as he saw his father leave the floor, and seat
+himself, with some gravity of manner, on a chair.
+
+"Not this evening, dear," answered Mr. Levering.
+
+"Why don't you play longer, then?"
+
+"Oh pa!" exclaimed another child, speaking from a sudden thought,
+"you don't know what a time we had at school to-day."
+
+"Ah! what was the cause?"
+
+"Oh! you'll hardly believe it. But Eddy Jones stole a dollar from
+Maggy Enfield!"
+
+"Stole a dollar!" ejaculated Mr. Levering. His voice was husky, and
+he felt a cold thrill passing along every nerve.
+
+"Yes, pa! he stole a dollar! Oh, wasn't it dreadful?"
+
+"Perhaps he was wrongly accused," suggested Mrs. Levering.
+
+"Emma Wilson saw him do it, and they found the dollar in his pocket.
+Oh! he looked so pale, and it made me almost sick to hear him cry as
+if his heart would break."
+
+"What did they do with him?" asked Mrs. Levering.
+
+"They sent for his mother, and she took him home. Wasn't it
+dreadful?"
+
+"It must have been dreadful for his poor mother," Mr. Levering
+ventured to remark.
+
+"But more dreadful for him," said Mrs. Levering. "Will he ever
+forget his crime and disgrace? Will the pressure of that dollar on
+his conscience ever be removed? He may never do so wicked an act
+again; but the memory of this wrong deed cannot be wholly effaced
+from his mind."
+
+How rebukingly fell all these words on the ears of Mr. Levering. Ah!
+what would he not then have given to have the weight of that dollar
+removed? Its pressure was so great as almost to suffocate him. It
+was all in vain that he tried to be cheerful, or to take an interest
+in what was passing immediately around him. The innocent prattle of
+his children had lost its wonted charm, and there seemed an accusing
+expression in the eye of his wife, as, in the concern his changed
+aspect had occasioned, she looked soberly upon him. Unable to bear
+all this, Mr. Levering went out, something unusual for him, and
+walked the streets for an hour. On his return, the children were in
+bed, and he had regained sufficient self-control to meet his wife
+with a less disturbed appearance.
+
+On the next morning, Mr. Levering felt something better. Sleep had
+left his mind more tranquil. Still there was a pressure on his
+feelings, which thought could trace to that unlucky dollar. About an
+hour after going to his store, Mr. Levering saw his customer of the
+day previous enter, and move along towards the place where he stood
+behind his counter. His heart gave a sudden bound, and the color
+rose to his face. An accusing conscience was quick to conclude as to
+the object of her visit. But he soon saw that no suspicion of wrong
+dealing was in the lady's mind. With a pleasant half recognition,
+she asked to look at certain articles, from which she made
+purchases, and in paying for them, placed a ten dollar bill in the
+hand of the storekeeper.
+
+"That weight shall be off my conscience," said Mr. Levering to
+himself, as he began counting out the change due his customer; and,
+purposely, he gave her one dollar more than was justly hers in that
+transaction. The lady glanced her eyes over the money, and seemed
+slightly bewildered. Then, much to the storekeeper's relief, opened
+her purse and dropped it therein.
+
+"All right again!" was the mental ejaculation of Mr. Levering, as he
+saw the purse disappear in the lady's pocket, while his breast
+expanded with a sense of relief.
+
+The customer turned from the counter, and had nearly gained the
+door, when she paused, drew out her purse, and emptying the contents
+of one end into her hand, carefully noted the amount. Then walking
+back, she said, with a thoughtful air--
+
+"I think you 've made a mistake in the change, Mr. Levering."
+
+"I presume not, ma'am. I gave you four and thirty-five," was the
+quick reply.
+
+"Four, thirty-five," said the lady, musingly.
+
+"Yes, here is just four, thirty-five."
+
+"That's right; yes, that's right," Mr. Levering spoke, somewhat
+nervously.
+
+"The article came to six dollars and sixty-five cents, I believe?"
+
+"Yes, yes; that was it!"
+
+"Then three dollars and thirty-five cents will be my right change,"
+said the lady, placing a small gold coin on the counter. "You gave
+me too much."
+
+The customer turned away and retired from the store, leaving that
+dollar still on the conscience of Mr. Levering.
+
+"I'll throw it into the street," said he to himself, impatiently.
+"Or give it to the first beggar that comes along."
+
+But conscience whispered that the dollar wasn't his, either to give
+away or to throw away. Such prodigality, or impulsive benevolence,
+would be at the expense of another, and this could not mend the
+matter.
+
+"This is all squeamishness," said Mr. Levering trying to argue
+against his convictions. But it was of no avail. His convictions
+remained as clear and rebuking as ever.
+
+The next day was the Sabbath, and Mr. Levering went to church, as
+usual, with his family. Scarcely had he taken a seat in his pew,
+when, on raising his eyes, they rested on the countenance of the
+lady from whom he had abstracted the dollar. How quickly his cheek
+flushed! How troubled became, instantly, the beatings of his heart!
+Unhappy Mr. Levering! He could not make the usual responses that
+day, in the services; and when the congregation joined in the
+swelling hymn of praise, his voice was heard not in the general
+thanksgiving. Scarcely a word of the eloquent sermon reached his
+ears, except something about "dishonest dealing;" he was too deeply
+engaged in discussing the question, whether or no he should get rid
+of the troublesome dollar by dropping it into the contribution box,
+at the close of the morning service, to listen to the words of the
+preacher. This question was not settled when the box came round,
+but, as a kind of desperate alternative, he cast the money into the
+treasury.
+
+For a short time, Mr. Levering felt considerable relief of mind. But
+this disposition of the money proved only a temporary palliative.
+There was a pressure on his feelings; still a weight on his
+conscience that gradually became heavier. Poor man! What was he to
+do? How was he to get this dollar removed from his conscience? He
+could not send it back to the lady and tell her the whole truth.
+Such an exposure of himself would not only be humiliating, but
+hurtful to his character. It would be seeking to do right, in the
+infliction of a wrong to himself.
+
+At last, Mr. Levering, who had ascertained the lady's name and
+residence, inclosed her a dollar, anonymously, stating that it was
+her due; that the writer had obtained it from her, unjustly, in a
+transaction which he did not care to name, and could not rest until
+he had made restitution.
+
+Ah! the humiliation of spirit suffered by Mr. Levering in thus
+seeking to get ease for his conscience! It was one of his bitterest
+life experiences. The longer the dollar remained in his possession,
+the heavier became its pressure, until he could endure it no longer.
+He felt not only disgraced in his own eyes, but humbled in the
+presence of his wife and children. Not for worlds would he have
+suffered them to look into his heart.
+
+If a simple act of restitution could have covered all the past,
+happy would it have been for Mr. Levering. But this was not
+possible. The deed was entered in the book of his life, and nothing
+could efface the record. Though obscured by the accumulating dust of
+time, now and then a hand sweeps unexpectedly over the page, and the
+writing is revealed. Though that dollar has been removed from his
+conscience, and he is now guiltless of wrong, yet there are times
+when the old pressure is felt with painful distinctness.
+
+Earnest seeker after this world's goods, take warning by Mr.
+Levering, and beware how, in a moment of weak yielding, you get a
+dollar on your conscience. One of two evils must follow. It will
+give you pain and trouble, or make callous the spot where it rests.
+And the latter of these evils is that which is most to be deplored.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+AUNT MARY'S SUGGESTION.
+
+
+
+
+
+"JOHN THOMAS!" Mr. Belknap spoke in a firm, rather authoritative
+voice. It was evident that he anticipated some reluctance on the
+boy's part, and therefore, assumed, in the outset, a very decided
+manner.
+
+John Thomas, a lad between twelve and thirteen years of age, was
+seated on the doorstep, reading. A slight movement of the body
+indicated that he heard; but he did not lift his eyes from the book,
+nor make any verbal response.
+
+"John Thomas!" This time the voice of Mr. Belknap was loud, sharp,
+and imperative.
+
+"Sir," responded the boy, dropping the volume in his lap, and
+looking up with a slightly flushed, but sullen face.
+
+"Did n't you hear me when I first spoke?" said Mr. Belknap, angrily.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Then, why did n't you answer me? Always respond when you are spoken
+to. I'm tired of this ill-mannerd, disrespectful way of yours."
+
+The boy stood up, looking, now, dogged, as well as sullen.
+
+"Go get your hat and jacket." This was said in a tone of command,
+accompanied by a side toss of the head, by the way of enforcing the
+order.
+
+"What for?" asked John Thomas, not moving a pace from where he
+stood.
+
+"Go and do what I tell you. Get your hat and jacket."
+
+The boy moved slowly and with a very reluctant air from the room.
+
+"Now, don't be all day," Mr. Belknap called after him, "I'm in a
+hurry. Move briskly."
+
+How powerless the father's words died upon the air. The motions of
+John Thomas were not quickened in the slightest degree. Like a
+soulless automaton passed he out into the passage and up the stairs;
+while the impatient Mr. Belknap could with difficulty restrain an
+impulse to follow after, and hasten the sulky boy's movements with
+blows. He controlled himself, however, and resumed the perusal of
+his newspaper. Five, ten minutes passed, and John Thomas had not yet
+appeared to do the errand upon which his father designed to send
+him. Suddenly Mr. Belknap dropped his paper, and going hastily to
+the bottom of the stairs, called out:
+
+"You John! John Thomas!"
+
+"Sir!" came a provokingly indifferent voice from one of the
+chambers.
+
+"Did n't I tell you to hurry--say?"
+
+"I can't find my jacket."
+
+"You don't want to find it. Where did you lay it when you took it
+off last night?"
+
+"I don't know. I forget."
+
+"If you're not down here, with your jacket on, in one minute, I'll
+warm your shoulders well for you."
+
+Mr. Belknap was quite in earnest in this threat, a fact plainly
+enough apparent to John Thomas in the tone of his father's voice.
+Not just wishing to have matters proceed to this extremity, the boy
+opened a closet, and, singularly enough, there hung his jacket in
+full view. At the expiration of the minute, he was standing before
+his disturbed father, with his jacket on, and buttoned up to the
+chin.
+
+"Where's your hat?" now asked Mr. Belknap.
+
+"I don't know, sir."
+
+"Well, find it, then."
+
+"I've looked everywhere."
+
+"Look again. There! What is that on the hat rack, just under my
+coat?"
+
+The boy answered not, but walked moodily to the rack, and took his
+hat therefrom.
+
+"Ready at last. I declare I'm out of all patience with your slow
+movements and sulky manner. What do you stand there for, knitting
+your brows and pouting your lips? Straighten out your face, sir! I
+won't have a boy of mine put on such a countenance."
+
+The lad, thus angrily and insultingly rated, made a feeble effort to
+throw a few rays of sunshine into his face. But, the effort died
+fruitless. All was too dark, sullen, and rebellious within his
+bosom.
+
+"See here." Mr. Belknap still spoke in that peculiar tone of command
+which always stifles self-respect in the one to whom it is
+addressed.
+
+"Do you go down to Leslie's and tell him to send me a good claw
+hammer and three pounds of eightpenny nails. And go quickly."
+
+The boy turned off without a word of reply, and was slowly moving
+away, when his father said, sharply:
+
+"Look here, sir!"
+
+John Thomas paused and looked back.
+
+"Did you hear me?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"What did I tell you to do?"
+
+"Go get a claw hammer and three pounds of eightpenny nails."
+
+"Very well. Why did n't you indicate, in some way, that you heard
+me? Have n't I already this morning read you a lecture about this
+very thing? Now, go quickly. I'm in a hurry."
+
+For all this impatience and authority on the part of Mr. Belknap,
+John Thomas moved away at a snail's pace; and as the former in a
+state of considerable irritability, gazed after the boy, he felt
+strongly tempted to call him back, and give him a good flogging in
+order that he might clearly comprehend the fact of his being in
+earnest. But as this flogging was an unpleasant kind of business,
+and had, on all previous occasions, been succeeded by a repentant
+and self-accusing state, Mr. Belknap restrained his indignant
+impulses.
+
+"If that stubborn, incorrigible boy returns in half an hour, it will
+be a wonder," muttered Mr. Belknap, as he came back into the
+sitting-room. "I wish I knew what to do with him. There is no
+respect or obedience in him. I never saw such a boy. He knows that
+I'm in a hurry; and yet he goes creeping along like a tortoise, and
+ten chances to one, if he does n't forget his errand altogether
+before he is halfway to Leslie's. What is to be done with him, Aunt
+Mary?"
+
+Mr. Belknap turned, as he spoke to an elderly lady, with a mild,
+open face, and clear blue eyes, from which goodness looked forth as
+an angel. She was a valued relative, who was paying him a brief
+visit.
+
+Aunt Mary let her knitting rest in her lap, and turned her mild,
+thoughtful eyes upon the speaker.
+
+"What is to be done with that boy, Aunt Mary?" Mr. Belknap repeated
+his words. "I've tried everything with him; but he remains
+incorrigible."
+
+"Have you tried--"
+
+Aunt Mary paused, and seemed half in doubt whether it were best to
+give utterance to what was in her mind.
+
+"Tried what?" asked Mr. Belknap.
+
+"May I speak plainly?" said Aunt Mary.
+
+"To me? Why yes! The plainer the better."
+
+"Have you tried a kind, affectionate, unimpassioned manner with the
+boy? Since I have been here, I notice that you speak to him in a
+cold, indifferent, or authoritative tone. Under such treatment, some
+natures, that soften quickly in the sunshine of affection, grow hard
+and stubborn."
+
+The blood mounted to the cheeks and brow of Mr. Belknap.
+
+"Forgive me, if I have spoken too plainly," said Aunt Mary.
+
+Mr. Belknap did not make any response for some time, but sat, with
+his eyes upon the floor, in hurried self-examination.
+
+"No, Aunt Mary, not too plainly," said he, as he looked at her with
+a sobered face. "I needed that suggestion, and thank you for having
+made it."
+
+"Mrs. Howitt has a line which beautifully expresses what I mean,"
+said Aunt Mary, in her gentle, earnest way. "It is
+
+'For love hath readier will than fear.'
+
+Ah, if we could all comprehend the wonderful power of love! It is
+the fire that melts; while fear only smites, the strokes hardening,
+or breaking its unsightly fragments. John Thomas has many good
+qualities, that ought to be made as active as possible. These, like
+goodly flowers growing in a carefully tilled garden, will absorb the
+latent vitality in his mind, and thus leave nothing from which
+inherent evil tendencies can draw nutrition."
+
+Aunt Mary said no more, and Mr. Belknap's thoughts were soon too
+busy with a new train of ideas, to leave him in any mood for
+conversation.
+
+Time moved steadily on. Nearly half an hour had elapsed, in which
+period John Thomas might have gone twice to Leslie's store, and
+returned; yet he was still absent. Mr. Belknap was particularly in
+want of the hammer and nails, and the delay chafed him very
+considerably; the more particularly, as it evidenced the
+indifference of his son in respect to his wishes and commands.
+Sometimes he would yield to a momentary blinding flush of anger, and
+resolve to punish the boy severely the moment he could get his hands
+on him. But quickly would come in Aunt Mary's suggestion, and he
+would again resolve to try the power of kind words. He was also a
+good deal strengthened in his purposes, by the fact that Aunt Mary's
+eyes would be upon him at the return of John Thomas. After her
+suggestion, and his acknowledgment of its value, it would hardly do
+for him to let passion so rule him as to act in open violation of
+what was right. To wrong his son by unwise treatment, when he
+professed to desire only his good.
+
+The fact is, Mr. Belknap had already made the discovery, that if he
+would govern his boy, he must first govern himself. This was not an
+easy task. Yet he felt that it must be done.
+
+"There comes that boy now," said he, as he glanced forth, and saw
+John Thomas coming homeward at a very deliberate pace. There was
+more of impatience in his tone of voice than he wished to betray to
+Aunt Mary, who let her beautiful, angel-like eyes rest for a moment
+or two, penetratingly, upon him. The balancing power of that look
+was needed; and it performed its work.
+
+Soon after, the loitering boy came in. He had a package of nails in
+his hand, which he reached, half indifferently, to his father.
+
+"The hammer!" John started with a half frightened air.
+
+"Indeed, father, I forgot all about it!" said he, looking up with a
+flushed countenance, in which genuine regret was plainly visible.
+
+"I'm sorry," said Mr. Belknap, in a disappointed, but not angry or
+rebuking voice. "I've been waiting a long time for you to come back,
+and now I must go to the store without nailing up that trellice for
+your mother's honeysuckle and wisteria, as I promised."
+
+The boy looked at his father a moment or two with an air of
+bewilderment and surprise; then he said, earnestly:
+
+"Just wait a little longer. I'll run down to the store and get it
+for you in a minute. I'm very sorry that I forgot it."
+
+"Run along, then," said Mr. Belknap, kindly.
+
+How fleetly the lad bounded away! His father gazed after him with an
+emotion of surprise, not unmixed with pleasure.
+
+"Yes--yes," he murmured, half aloud, "Mrs. Howitt never uttered a
+wiser saying. 'For love hath readier will than fear.'"
+
+Quicker than even Aunt Mary, whose faith in kind words was very
+strong, had expected, John came in with the hammer, a bright glow on
+his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes that strongly contrasted with
+the utter want of interest displayed in his manner a little while
+before.
+
+"Thank you, my son," said Mr. Belknap, as he took the hammer; "I
+could not have asked a prompter service."
+
+He spoke very kindly, and in a voice of approval. "And now, John,"
+he added, with the manner of one who requests, rather than commands,
+"if you will go over to Frank Wilson's, and tell him to come over
+and work for two or three days in our garden, you will oblige me
+very much. I was going to call there as I went to the store this
+morning; but it is too late now."
+
+"O, I'll go, father--I'll go," replied the boy, quickly and
+cheerfully. "I'll run right over at once."
+
+"Do, if you please," said Mr. Belknap, now speaking from an impulse
+of real kindness, for a thorough change had come over his feelings.
+A grateful look was cast, by John Thomas, into his father's face,
+and then he was off to do his errand. Mr. Belknap saw, and
+understood the meaning of that look.
+
+"Yes--yes--yes,--" thus he talked with himself as he took his way to
+the store,--"Aunt Mary and Mrs. Howitt are right. Love hath a
+readier will. I ought to have learned this lesson earlier. Ah! how
+much that is deformed in this self-willed boy, might now be growing
+in beauty."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+HELPING THE POOR.
+
+
+
+
+
+"I'M on a begging expedition," said Mr. Jonas, as he came bustling
+into the counting-room of a fellow merchant named Prescott. "And, as
+you are a benevolent man, I hope to get at least five dollars here
+in aid of a family in extremely indigent circumstances. My wife
+heard of them yesterday; and the little that was learned, has
+strongly excited our sympathies. So I am out on a mission for
+supplies. I want to raise enough to buy them a ton of coal, a barrel
+of flour, a bag of potatoes, and a small lot of groceries."
+
+"Do you know anything of the family for which you propose this
+charity?" inquired Mr. Prescott, with a slight coldness of manner.
+
+"I only know that they are in want and that it is the first duty of
+humanity to relieve them," said Mr. Jonas, quite warmly.
+
+"I will not question your inference," said Mr. Prescott. "To relieve
+the wants of our suffering fellow creatures is an unquestionable
+duty. But there is another important consideration connected with
+poverty and its demands upon us."
+
+"What is that pray?" inquired Mr. Jonas, who felt considerably
+fretted by so unexpected a damper to his benevolent enthusiasm.
+
+"How it shall be done," answered Mr. Prescott, calmly.
+
+"If a man is hungry, give him bread; if he is naked, clothe him,"
+said Mr. Jonas. "There is no room for doubt or question here. This
+family I learn, are suffering for all the necessaries of life, and I
+can clearly see the duty to supply their wants."
+
+"Of how many does the family consist?" asked Mr. Prescott.
+
+"There is a man and his wife and three or four children."
+
+"Is the man sober and industrious?"
+
+"I don't know anything about him. I've had no time to make
+inquiries. I only know that hunger and cold are in his dwelling, or,
+at least were in his dwelling yesterday."
+
+"Then you have already furnished relief?"
+
+"Temporary relief. I shouldn't have slept last night, after what I
+heard, without just sending them a bushel of coal, and a basket of
+provisions."
+
+"For which I honor your kindness of heart, Mr. Jonas. So far you
+acted right. But, I am by no means so well assured of the wisdom and
+humanity of your present action in the case. The true way to help
+the poor, is to put it into their power to help themselves. The mere
+bestowal of alms is, in most cases an injury; either encouraging
+idleness and vice, or weakening self-respect and virtuous
+self-dependence. There is innate strength in every one; let us seek
+to develop this strength in the prostrate, rather than hold them up
+by a temporary application of our own powers, to fall again,
+inevitably, when the sustaining hand is removed. This, depend upon
+it, is not true benevolence. Every one has ability to serve the
+common good, and society renders back sustenance for bodily life as
+the reward of this service."
+
+"But, suppose a man cannot get work," said Mr. Jonas. "How is he to
+serve society, for the sake of a reward?"
+
+"True charity will provide employment for him rather than bestow
+alms."
+
+"But, if there is no employment to be had Mr. Prescott?"
+
+"You make a very extreme case. For all who are willing to work, in
+this country, there is employment."
+
+"I'm by no means ready to admit this assertion."
+
+"Well, we'll not deal in general propositions; because anything can
+be assumed or denied. Let us come direct to the case in point, and
+thus determine our duty towards the family whose needs we are
+considering. Which will be best for them? To help them in the way
+you propose, or to encourage them to help themselves?"
+
+"All I know about them at present," replied Mr. Jonas, who was
+beginning to feel considerably worried, "is, that they are suffering
+for the common necessaries of life. It is all very well to tell a
+man to help himself, but, if his arm be paralyzed, or he have no key
+to open the provision shop, he will soon starve under that system of
+benevolence. Feed and clothe a man first, and then set him to work
+to help himself. He will have life in his heart and strength in his
+hands."
+
+"This sounds all very fair, Mr. Jonas; and yet, there is not so much
+true charity involved there as appears on the surface. It will avail
+little, however, for us to debate the matter now. Your time and mine
+are both of too much value during business hours for useless
+discussion. I cannot give, understandingly, in the present case, and
+so must disappoint your expectations in this quarter."
+
+"Good morning, then," said Mr. Jonas, bowing rather coldly.
+
+"Good morning," pleasantly responded Mr. Prescott, as his visitor
+turned and left his store.
+
+"All a mean excuse for not giving," said Mr. Jonas, to himself, as
+he walked rather hurriedly away. "I don't believe much in the
+benevolence of your men who are so particular about the whys and
+wherefores--so afraid to give a dollar to a poor, starving fellow
+creature, lest the act encourage vice or idleness."
+
+The next person upon whom Mr. Jonas called, happened to be very much
+of Mr. Prescott's way of thinking; and the next chanced to know
+something about the family for whom he was soliciting aid. "A lazy,
+vagabond set!" exclaimed the individual, when Mr. Jonas mentioned
+his errand, "who would rather want than work. They may starve before
+I give them a shilling."
+
+"Is this true?" asked Mr. Jonas, in surprise.
+
+"Certainly it is. I've had their case stated before. In fact, I went
+through the sleet and rain one bitter cold night to take them
+provisions, so strongly had my sympathies in regard to them been
+excited. Let them go to work."
+
+"But can the man get work?" inquired Mr. Jonas.
+
+"Other poor men, who have families dependent on them, can get work.
+Where there's a will there's a way. Downright laziness is the
+disease in this case, and the best cure for which is a little
+wholesome starvation. So, take my advice, and leave this excellent
+remedy to work out a cure."
+
+Mr. Jonas went back to his store in rather a vexed state of mind.
+All his fine feelings of benevolence were stifled. He was angry with
+the indigent family, and angry with himself for being "the fool to
+meddle with any business but his own."
+
+"Catch me on such an errand again," said he, indignantly. "I'll
+never seek to do a good turn again as long as I live."
+
+Just as he was saying this, his neighbor Prescott came into his
+store.
+
+"Where does the poor family live, of whom you were speaking to me?"
+he inquired.
+
+"O, don't ask me about them!" exclaimed Mr. Jonas. "I've just found
+them out. They're a lazy, vagabond set."
+
+"You are certain of that?"
+
+"Morally certain. Mr. Caddy says he knows them like a book, and
+they'd rather want than work. With him, I think a little wholesome
+starvation will do them good."
+
+Notwithstanding this rather discouraging testimony, Mr. Prescott
+made a memorandum of the street and number of the house in which the
+family lived, remarking as he did so:
+
+"I have just heard where the services of an able-bodied man are
+wanted. Perhaps Gardiner, as you call him, may be glad to obtain the
+situation."
+
+"He won't work; that's the character I have received of him,"
+replied Mr. Jonas, whose mind was very much roused against the man.
+The pendulum of his impulses had swung, from a light touch, to the
+other extreme.
+
+"A dollar earned, is worth two received in charity," said Mr.
+Prescott; "because the dollar earned corresponds to service
+rendered, and the man feels that it is his own--that he has an
+undoubted right to its possession. It elevates his moral character,
+inspires self-respect, and prompts to new efforts. Mere alms-giving
+is demoralizing for the opposite reason. It blunts the moral
+feelings, lowers the self-respect, and fosters inactivity and
+idleness, opening the way for vice to come in and sweep away all the
+foundations of integrity. Now, true charity to the poor is for us to
+help them to help themselves. Since you left me a short time ago, I
+have been thinking, rather hastily, over the matter; and the fact of
+hearing about the place for an able-bodied man, as I just mentioned,
+has led me to call around and suggest your making interest therefor
+in behalf of Gardiner. Helping him in this way will be true
+benevolence."
+
+"It's no use," replied Mr. Jonas, in a positive tone of voice. "He's
+an idle good-for-nothing fellow, and I'll have nothing to do with
+him."
+
+Mr. Prescott urged the matter no farther, for he saw that to do so
+would be useless. On his way home, on leaving his store, he called
+to see Gardiner. He found, in two small, meagerly furnished rooms, a
+man, his wife, and three children. Everything about them indicated
+extreme poverty; and, worse than this, lack of cleanliness and
+industry. The woman and children had a look of health, but the man
+was evidently the subject of some wasting disease. His form was
+light, his face thin and rather pale, and his languid eyes deeply
+sunken. He was very far from being the able-bodied man Mr. Prescott
+had expected to find. As the latter stepped into the miserable room
+where they were gathered, the light of expectation, mingled with the
+shadows of mute suffering, came into their countenances. Mr.
+Prescott was a close observer, and saw, at a glance, the assumed
+sympathy-exciting face of the mendicant in each.
+
+"You look rather poor here," said he, as he took a chair, which the
+woman dusted with her dirty apron before handing it to him.
+
+"Indeed, sir, and we are miserably off," replied the woman, in a
+half whining tone. "John, there, hasn't done a stroke of work now
+for three months; and--"
+
+"Why not!" interrupted Mr. Prescott.
+
+"My health is very poor," said the man. "I suffer much from pain in
+my side and back, and am so weak most of the time, that I can hardly
+creep about."
+
+"That is bad, certainly," replied Mr. Prescott, "very bad." And as
+he spoke, he turned his eyes to the woman's face, and then scanned
+the children very closely.
+
+"Is that boy of yours doing anything?" he inquired.
+
+"No, sir," replied the mother. "He's too young to be of any
+account."
+
+"He's thirteen, if my eyes do not deceive me."
+
+"Just a little over thirteen."
+
+"Does he go to school?"
+
+"No sir. He has no clothes fit to be seen in at school."
+
+"Bad--bad," said Mr. Prescott, "very bad. The boy might be earning
+two dollars a week; instead of which he is growing up in idleness,
+which surely leads to vice."
+
+Gardiner looked slightly confused at this remark, and his wife,
+evidently, did not feel very comfortable under the steady, observant
+eyes that were on her.
+
+"You seem to be in good health," said Mr. Prescott, looking at the
+woman.
+
+"Yes sir, thank God! And if it wasn't for that, I don't know what we
+should all have done. Everything has fallen upon me since John,
+there, has been ailing."
+
+Mr. Prescott glanced around the room, and then remarked, a little
+pleasantly:
+
+"I don't see that you make the best use of your health and
+strength."
+
+The woman understood him, for the color came instantly to her face.
+
+"There is no excuse for dirt and disorder," said the visitor, more
+seriously. "I once called to see a poor widow, in such a state of
+low health that she had to lie in bed nearly half of every day. She
+had two small children, and supported herself and them by fine
+embroidery, at which she worked nearly all the time. I never saw a
+neater room in my life than hers, and her children, though in very
+plain and patched clothing, were perfectly clean. How different is
+all here; and yet, when I entered, you all sat idly amid this
+disorder, and--shall I speak plainly--filth."
+
+The woman, on whose face the color had deepened while Mr. Prescott
+spoke, now rose up quickly, and commenced bustling about the room,
+which, in a few moments, looked far less in disorder. That she felt
+his rebuke, the visiter regarded as a good sign.
+
+"Now," said he, as the woman resumed her seat, "let me give you the
+best maxim for the poor in the English language; one that, if lived
+by, will soon extinguish poverty, or make it a very light
+thing,--'God helps those who help themselves.' To be very plain with
+you, it is clear to my eyes, that you do not try to help yourselves;
+such being the case, you need not expect gratuitous help from God.
+Last evening you received some coal and a basket of provisions from
+a kind-hearted man, who promised more efficient aid to-day. You have
+not yet heard from him, and what is more, will not hear from him.
+Some one, to whom he applied for a contribution happened to know
+more about you than he did, and broadly pronounced you a set of idle
+vagabonds. Just think of bearing such a character! He dropped the
+matter at once, and you will get nothing from him. I am one of those
+upon whom he called. Now, if you are all disposed to help
+yourselves, I will try to stand your friend. If not, I shall have
+nothing to do with you. I speak plainly; it is better; there will be
+less danger of apprehension. That oldest boy of yours must go to
+work and earn something. And your daughter can work about the house
+for you very well, while you go out to wash, or scrub, and thus earn
+a dollar or two, or three, every week. There will be no danger of
+starvation on this income, and you will then eat your bread in
+independence. Mr. Gardiner can help some, I do not in the least
+doubt."
+
+And Mr. Prescott looked inquiringly at the man.
+
+"If I was only able-bodied," said Gardiner, in a half reluctant tone
+and manner.
+
+"But you are not. Still, there are many things you may do. If by a
+little exertion you can earn the small sum of two or three dollars a
+week, it will be far better--even for your health--than idleness.
+Two dollars earned every week by your wife, two by your boy, and
+three by yourself, would make seven dollars a week; and if I am not
+very much mistaken, you don't see half that sum in a week now."
+
+"Indeed, sir, and you speak the truth there," said the woman.
+
+"Very well. It's plain, then, that work is better than idleness."
+
+"But we can't get work." The woman fell back upon this strong
+assertion.
+
+"Don't believe a word of it. I can tell you how to earn half a
+dollar a day for the next four or five days at least. So there's a
+beginning for you. Put yourself in the way of useful employment, and
+you will have no difficulty beyond."
+
+"What kind of work, sir?" inquired the woman.
+
+"We are about moving into a new house, and my wife commences the
+work of having it cleaned to-morrow morning. She wants another
+assistant. Will you come?"
+
+The woman asked the number of his residence, and promised to accept
+the offer of work.
+
+"Very well. So far so good," said Mr. Prescott, cheerfully, as he
+arose. "You shall be paid at the close of each day's work; and that
+will give you the pleasure of eating your own bread--a real
+pleasure, you may depend upon it; for a loaf of bread earned is
+sweeter than the richest food bestowed by charity, and far better
+for the health."
+
+"But about the boy, sir?" said Gardiner, whose mind was becoming
+active with more independent thoughts.
+
+"All in good time," said Mr. Prescott smiling. "Rome was not built
+in a day, you know. First let us secure a beginning. If your wife
+goes to-morrow, I shall think her in earnest; as willing to help
+herself, and, therefore, worthy to be helped. All the rest will come
+in due order. But you may rest assured, that, if she does not come
+to work, it is the end of the matter as far as I am concerned. So
+good evening to you."
+
+Bright and early came Mrs. Gardiner on the next morning, far tidier
+in appearance than when Mr. Prescott saw her before. She was a
+stout, strong woman, and knew how to scrub and clean paint as well
+as the best. When fairly in the spirit of work, she worked on with a
+sense of pleasure. Mrs. Prescott was well satisfied with her
+performance, and paid her the half dollar earned when her day's toil
+was done. On the next day, and the next, she came, doing her work
+and receiving her wages.
+
+On the evening of the third day, Mr. Prescott thought it time to
+call upon the Gardiners.
+
+"Well this is encouraging!" said he, with an expression of real
+pleasure, as he gazed around the room, which scarcely seemed like
+the one he had visited before. All was clean, and everything in
+order; and, what was better still, the persons of all, though poorly
+clad, were clean and tidy. Mrs. Gardiner sat by the table mending a
+garment; her daughter was putting away the supper dishes; while the
+man sat teaching a lesson in spelling to their youngest child.
+
+The glow of satisfaction that pervaded the bosom of each member of
+the family, as Mr. Prescott uttered these approving words, was a new
+and higher pleasure than had for a long time been experienced, and
+caused the flame of self-respect and self-dependence, rekindled once
+more, to rise upwards in a steady flame.
+
+"I like to see this," continued Mr. Prescott. "It does me good. You
+have fairly entered the right road. Walk on steadily, courageously,
+unweariedly. There is worldly comfort and happiness for you at the
+end. I think I have found a very good place for your son, where he
+will receive a dollar and a half a week to begin with. In a few
+months, if all things suit, he will get two dollars. The work is
+easy, and the opportunities for improvement good. I think there is a
+chance for you, also, Mr. Gardiner. I have something in my mind that
+will just meet your case. Light work, and not over five or six hours
+application each day--the wages four dollars a week to begin with,
+and a prospect of soon having them raised to six or seven dollars.
+What do you think of that?"
+
+"Sir!" exclaimed the poor man, in whom personal pride and a native
+love of independence were again awakening, "if you can do this for
+me, you will be indeed a benefactor."
+
+"It shall be done," said Mr. Prescott, positively. "Did I not say to
+you, that God helps those who help themselves? It is even thus. No
+one, in our happy country who is willing to work, need be in want;
+and money earned by honest industry buys the sweetest bread."
+
+It required a little watching, and urging, and admonition, on the
+part of Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, to keep the Gardiners moving on
+steadily, in the right way. Old habits and inclinations had gained
+too much power easily to be broken; and but for this watchfulness on
+their part, idleness and want would again have entered the poor
+man's dwelling.
+
+The reader will hardly feel surprise, when told, that in three or
+four years from the time Mr. Prescott so wisely met the case of the
+indigent Gardiners, they were living in a snug little house of their
+own, nearly paid for out of the united industry of the family, every
+one of which was now well clad, cheerful, and in active employment.
+As for Mr. Gardiner, his health has improved, instead of being
+injured by light employment. Cheerful, self-approving thoughts, and
+useful labor, have temporarily renovated a fast sinking
+constitution.
+
+Mr. Prescott's way of helping the poor is the right way. They must
+be taught to help themselves. Mere alms-giving is but a temporary
+aid, and takes away, instead of giving, that basis of
+self-dependence, on which all should rest. Help a man up, and teach
+him to use his feet, so that he can walk alone. This is true
+benevolence.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+COMMON PEOPLE.
+
+
+
+
+
+"ARE you going to call upon Mrs. Clayton and her daughters, Mrs.
+Marygold?" asked a neighbor, alluding to a family that had just
+moved into Sycamore Row.
+
+"No, indeed, Mrs. Lemmington, that I am not. I don't visit
+everybody."
+
+"I thought the Claytons were a very respectable family," remarked
+Mrs. Lemmington.
+
+"Respectable! Everybody is getting respectable now-a-days. If they
+are respectable, it is very lately that they have become so. What is
+Mr. Clayton, I wonder, but a school-master! It's too bad that such
+people will come crowding themselves into genteel neighborhoods. The
+time was when to live in Sycamore Row was guarantee enough for any
+one--but, now, all kinds of people have come into it."
+
+"I have never met Mrs. Clayton," remarked Mrs. Lemmington, "but I
+have been told that she is a most estimable woman, and that her
+daughters have been educated with great care. Indeed, they are
+represented as being highly accomplished girls."
+
+"Well, I don't care what they are represented to be. I'm not going
+to keep company with a schoolmaster's wife and daughters, that's
+certain."
+
+"Is there anything disgraceful in keeping a school?"
+
+"No, nor in making shoes, either. But, then, that's no reason why I
+should keep company with my shoemaker's wife, is it? Let common
+people associate together--that's my doctrine."
+
+"But what do you mean by common people, Mrs. Marygold?"
+
+"Why, I mean common people. Poor people. People who have not come of
+a respectable family. That's what I mean."
+
+"I am not sure that I comprehend your explanation much better than I
+do your classification. If you mean, as you say, poor people, your
+objection will not apply with full force to the Claytons, for they
+are now in tolerably easy circumstances. As to the family of Mr.
+Clayton, I believe his father was a man of integrity, though not
+rich. And Mrs. Clayton's family I know to be without reproach of any
+kind."
+
+"And yet they are common people for all that," persevered Mrs.
+Marygold. "Wasn't old Clayton a mere petty dealer in small wares.
+And wasn't Mrs. Clayton's father a mechanic?"
+
+"Perhaps, if some of us were to go back for a generation or two, we
+might trace out an ancestor who held no higher place in society,"
+Mrs. Lemmington remarked, quietly. "I have no doubt but that I
+should."
+
+"I have no fears of that kind," replied Mrs. Marygold, in an
+exulting tone. "I shall never blush when my pedigree is traced."
+
+"Nor I neither, I hope. Still, I should not wonder if some one of my
+ancestors had disgraced himself, for there are but few families that
+are not cursed with a spotted sheep. But I have nothing to do with
+that, and ask only to be judged by what I am--not by what my
+progenitors have been."
+
+"A standard that few will respect, let me tell you."
+
+"A standard that far the largest portion of society will regard as
+the true one, I hope," replied Mrs. Lemmington. "But, surely, you do
+not intend refusing to call upon the Claytons for the reason you
+have assigned, Mrs. Marygold."
+
+"Certainly I do. They are nothing but common people, and therefore
+beneath me. I shall not stoop to associate with them."
+
+"I think that I will call upon them. In fact, my object in dropping
+in this morning was to see if you would not accompany me," said Mrs.
+Lemmington.
+
+"Indeed, I will not, and for the reasons I have given. They are only
+common people. You will be stooping."
+
+"No one stoops in doing a kind act. Mrs. Clayton is a stranger in
+the neighborhood, and is entitled to the courtesy of a call, if no
+more; and that I shall extend to her. If I find her to be
+uncongenial in her tastes, no intimate acquaintanceship need be
+formed. If she is congenial, I will add another to my list of valued
+friends. You and I, I find, estimate differently. I judge every
+individual by merit, you by family, or descent."
+
+"You can do as you please," rejoined Mrs. Marygold, somewhat coldly.
+"For my part, I am particular about my associates. I will visit Mrs.
+Florence, and Mrs. Harwood, and such an move in good society, but as
+to your schoolteachers' wives and daughters, I must beg to be
+excused."
+
+"Every one to her taste," rejoined Mrs. Lemmington, with a smile, as
+she moved towards the door, where she stood for a few moments to
+utter some parting compliments, and then withdrew.
+
+Five minutes afterwards she was shown into Mrs. Clayton's parlors,
+where, in a moment or two, she was met by the lady upon whom she had
+called, and received with an air of easy gracefulness, that at once
+charmed her. A brief conversation convinced her that Mrs. Clayton
+was, in intelligence and moral worth, as far above Mrs. Marygold, as
+that personage imagined herself to be above her. Her daughters, who
+came in while she sat conversing with their mother, showed
+themselves to possess all those graces of mind and manner that win
+upon our admiration so irresistably. An hour passed quickly and
+pleasantly, and then Mrs. Lemmington withdrew.
+
+The difference between Mrs. Lemmington and Mrs. Marygold was simply
+this. The former had been familiar with what is called the best
+society from her earliest recollection, and being therefore,
+constantly in association with those looked upon as the upper class,
+knew nothing of the upstart self-estimation which is felt by certain
+weak ignorant persons, who by some accidental circumstance are
+elevated far above the condition into which they moved originally.
+She could estimate true worth in humble garb as well as in velvet
+and rich satins. She was one of those individuals who never pass an
+old and worthy domestic in the street without recognition, or
+stopping to make some kind inquiry--one who never forgot a familiar
+face, or neglected to pass a kind word to even the humblest who
+possessed the merit of good principles. As to Mrs. Marygold,
+notwithstanding her boast in regard to pedigree, there were not a
+few who could remember when her grandfather carried a pedlar's pack
+on his back--and an honest and worthy pedlar he was, saving his
+pence until they became pounds, and then relinquishing his
+peregrinating propensities, for the quieter life of a small
+shop-keeper. His son, the father of Mrs. Marygold, while a boy had a
+pretty familiar acquaintance with low life. But, as soon as his
+father gained the means to do so, he was put to school and furnished
+with a good education. Long before he was of age, the old man had
+become a pretty large shipper; and when his son arrived at mature
+years, he took him into business as a partner. In marrying, Mrs.
+Marygold's father chose a young lady whose father, like his own, had
+grown rich by individual exertions. This young lady had not a few
+false notions in regard to the true genteel, and these fell
+legitimately to the share of her eldest daughter, who, when she in
+turn came upon the stage of action, married into an old and what was
+called a highly respectable family, a circumstance that puffed her
+up to the full extent of her capacity to bear inflation. There were
+few in the circle of her acquaintances who did not fully appreciate
+her, and smile at her weakness and false pride. Mrs. Florence, to
+whom she had alluded in her conversation with Mrs. Lemmington, and
+who lived in Sycamore Row, was not only faultless in regard to
+family connections, but was esteemed in the most intelligent circles
+for her rich mental endowments and high moral principles. Mrs.
+Harwood, also alluded to, was the daughter of an English barrister
+and wife of a highly distinguished professional man, and was besides
+richly endowed herself, morally and intellectually. Although Mrs.
+Marygold was very fond of visiting them for the mere _eclat_ of the
+thing, yet their company was scarcely more agreeable to her, than
+hers was to them, for there was little in common between them.
+Still, they had to tolerate her, and did so with a good grace.
+
+It was, perhaps, three months after Mrs. Clayton moved into the
+neighborhood, that cards of invitation were sent to Mr. and Mrs.
+Marygold and daughter to pass a social evening at Mrs. Harwood's.
+Mrs. M. was of course delighted and felt doubly proud of her own
+importance. Her daughter Melinda, of whom she was excessively vain,
+was an indolent, uninteresting girl, too dull to imbibe even a small
+portion of her mother's self-estimation. In company, she attracted
+but little attention, except what her father's money and standing in
+society claimed for her.
+
+On the evening appointed, the Marygolds repaired to the elegant
+residence of Mrs. Harwood and were ushered into a large and
+brilliant company, more than half of whom were strangers even to
+them. Mrs. Lemmington was there, and Mrs. Florence, and many others
+with whom Mrs. Marygold was on terms of intimacy, besides several
+"distinguished strangers." Among those with whom Mrs. Marygold was
+unacquainted, were two young ladies who seemed to attract general
+attention. They were not showy, chattering girls, such as in all
+companies attract a swarm of shallow-minded youug fellows about them. On the contrary, there was
+something retiring, almost shrinking in their manner, that shunned
+rather than courted observation. And yet, no one, who, attracted by
+their sweet, modest faces, found himself by their side that did not
+feel inclined to linger there.
+
+"Who are those girls, Mrs. Lemmington?" asked Mrs. Marygold, meeting
+the lady she addressed in crossing the room.
+
+"The two girls in the corner who are attracting so much attention?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Don't you know them?"
+
+"I certainly do not."
+
+"They are no common persons, I can assure you, Mrs. Marygold."
+
+"Of course, or they would not be found here. But who are they?"
+
+"Ah, Mrs. Lemmington! how are you?" said a lady, coming up at this
+moment, and interrupting the conversation. "I have been looking for
+you this half hour." Then, passing her arm within that of the
+individual she had addressed, she drew her aside before she had a
+chance to answer Mrs. Marygold's question.
+
+In a few minutes after, a gentleman handed Melinda to the piano, and
+there was a brief pause as she struck the instrument, and commenced
+going through the unintelligible intricacies of a fashionable piece
+of music. She could strike all the notes with scientific correctness
+and mechanical precision. But there was no more expression in her
+performance than there is in that of a musical box. After she had
+finished her task, she left the instrument with a few words of
+commendation extorted by a feeling of politeness.
+
+"Will you not favor us with a song?" asked Mr. Harwood, going up to
+one of the young ladies to whom allusion has just been made.
+
+"My sister sings, I do not," was the modest reply, "but I will take
+pleasure in accompanying her."
+
+All eyes were fixed upon them as they moved towards the piano,
+accompanied by Mr. Harwood, for something about their manners,
+appearance and conversation, had interested nearly all in the room
+who had been led to notice them particularly. The sister who could
+not sing, seated herself with an air of easy confidence at the
+instrument, while the other stood near her. The first few touches
+that passed over the keys showed that the performer knew well how to
+give to music a soul. The tones that came forth were not the simple
+vibrations of a musical chord, but expressions of affection given by
+her whose fingers woke the strings into harmony. But if the
+preluding touches fell witchingly upon every ear, how exquisitely
+sweet and thrilling was the voice that stole out low and tremulous
+at first, and deepened in volume and expression every moment, until
+the whole room seemed filled with melody! Every whisper was hushed,
+and every one bent forward almost breathlessly to listen. And when,
+at length, both voice and instrument were hushed into silence, no
+enthusiastic expressions of admiration were heard, but only half-
+whispered ejaculations of "exquisite!" "sweet!" "beautiful!" Then
+came earnestly expressed wishes for another and another song, until
+the sisters, feeling at length that many must be wearied with their
+long continued occupation of the piano, felt themselves compelled to
+decline further invitations to sing. No one else ventured to touch a
+key of the instrument during the evening.
+
+"Do pray, Mrs. Lemmington, tell me who those girls are--I am dying
+to know," said Mrs. Marygold, crossing the room to where the person
+she addressed was seated with Mrs. Florence and several other ladies
+of "distinction," and taking a chair by her side.
+
+"They are only common people," replied Mrs. Lemmington, with
+affected indifference.
+
+"Common people, my dear madam! What do you mean by such an
+expression?" said Mrs. Florence in surprise, and with something of
+indignation latent in her tone.
+
+"I'm sure their father, Mr. Clayton, is nothing but a teacher."
+
+"Mr. Clayton! Surely those are not Clayton's daughters!" ejaculated
+Mrs. Marygold, in surprise.
+
+"They certainly are ma'am," replied Mrs. Florence in a quiet but
+firm voice, for she instantly perceived, from something in Mrs.
+Marygold's voice and manner, the reason why her friend had alluded
+to them as common people.
+
+"Well, really, I am surprised that Mrs. Harwood should have invited
+them to her house, and introduced them into genteel company."
+
+"Why so, Mrs. Marygold?"
+
+"Because, as Mrs. Lemmington has just said, they are common people.
+Their father is nothing but a schoolmaster."
+
+"If I have observed them rightly," Mrs. Florence said to this, "I
+have discovered them to be a rather uncommon kind of people. Almost
+any one can thrum on the piano; but you will not find one in a
+hundred who can perform with such exquisite grace and feeling as
+they can. For half an hour this evening I sat charmed with their
+conversation, and really instructed and elevated by the sentiments
+they uttered. I cannot say as much for any other young ladies in the
+room, for there are none others here above the common run of
+ordinarily intelligent girls--none who may not really be classed
+with common people in the true acceptation of the term."
+
+"And take them all in all," added Mrs. Lemmington with warmth, "you
+will find nothing common about them. Look at their dress; see how
+perfect in neatness, in adaptation of colors and arrangement to
+complexion and shape, is every thing about them. Perhaps there will
+not be found a single young lady in the room, besides them, whose
+dress does not show something not in keeping with good taste. Take
+their manners. Are they not graceful, gentle, and yet full of
+nature's own expression. In a word, is there any thing about them
+that is 'common?'"
+
+"Nothing that my eye has detected," replied Mrs. Florence.
+
+"Except their origin," half-sneeringly rejoined Mrs. Marygold.
+
+"They were born of woman," was the grave remark. "Can any of us
+boast a higher origin?"
+
+"There are various ranks among women," Mrs. Marygold said, firmly.
+
+"True. But, 'The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
+The man's the gold for a' that.'
+
+"Mere position in society does not make any of us more or less a true
+woman. I could name you over a dozen or more in my circle of
+acquaintance, who move in what is called the highest rank; who, in
+all that truly constitutes a woman, are incomparably below Mrs.
+Clayton; who, if thrown with her among perfect strangers, would be
+instantly eclipsed. Come then, Mrs. Marygold, lay aside all these
+false standards, and estimate woman more justly. Let me, to begin,
+introduce both yourself and Melinda to the young ladies this
+evening. You will be charmed with them, I know, and equally charmed
+with their mother when you know her."
+
+"No, ma'am," replied Mrs. Marygold, drawing herself up with a
+dignified air. "I have no wish to cultivate their acquaintance, or
+the acquaintance of any persons in their station. I am surprised
+that Mrs. Harwood has not had more consideration for her friends
+than to compel them to come in contact with such people."
+
+No reply was made to this; and the next remark of Mrs. Florence was
+about some matter of general interest.
+
+"Henry Florence has not been here for a week," said Mrs. Marygold to
+her daughter Melinda, some two months after the period at which the
+conversation just noted occurred.
+
+"No; and he used to come almost every evening," was Melinda's reply,
+made in a tone that expressed disappointment.
+
+"I wonder what can be the reason?" Mrs. Marygold said, half aloud,
+half to herself, but with evident feelings of concern. The reason of
+her concern and Melinda's disappointment arose from the fact that
+both had felt pretty sure of securing Henry Florence as a member of
+the Marygold family--such connection, from his standing in society,
+being especially desirable.
+
+At the very time the young man was thus alluded to by Mrs. Marygold
+and her daughter, he sat conversing with his mother upon a subject
+that seemed, from the expression of his countenance, to be of much
+interest to him.
+
+"So you do not feel inclined to favor any preference on my part
+towards Miss Marygold?" he said, looking steadily into his mother's
+face.
+
+"I do not, Henry," was the frank reply.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"There is something too common about her, if I may so express
+myself."
+
+"Too common! What do you mean by that?"
+
+"I mean that there is no distinctive character about her. She is,
+like the large mass around us, a mere made-up girl."
+
+"Speaking in riddles."
+
+"I mean then, Henry, that her character has been formed, or made up,
+by mere external accretions from the common-place, vague, and often
+too false notions of things that prevail in society, instead of by
+the force of sound internal principles, seen to be true from a
+rational intuition, and acted upon because they are true. Cannot you
+perceive the difference?"
+
+"O yes, plainly. And this is why you use the word 'common,' in
+speaking of her?"
+
+"The reason. And now my son, can you not see that there is force in
+my objection to her--that she really possess any character
+distinctively her own, that is founded upon a clear and rational
+appreciation of abstractly correct principles of action?"
+
+"I cannot say that I differ from you very widely," the young man
+said, thoughtfully. "But, if you call Melinda 'common,' where shall
+I go to find one who may be called 'uncommon?'"
+
+"I can point you to one."
+
+"Say on."
+
+"You have met Fanny Clayton?"
+
+"Fanny Clayton!" ejaculated the young man, taken by surprise, the
+blood rising to his face. "O yes, I have met her."
+
+"She is no common girl, Henry," Mrs. Florence said, in a serious
+voice. "She has not her equal in my circle of acquaintances."
+
+"Nor in mine either," replied the young man, recovering himself.
+"But you would not feel satisfied to have your son address Miss
+Clayton?"
+
+"And why not, pray? Henry, I have never met with a young lady whom I
+would rather see your wife than Fanny Clayton."
+
+"And I," rejoined the young man with equal warmth, "never met with
+any one whom I could truly love until I saw her sweet young face."
+
+"Then never think again of one like Melinda Marygold. You could not
+be rationally happy with her."
+
+Five or six months rolled away, during a large portion of which time
+the fact that Henry Florence was addressing Fanny Clayton formed a
+theme for pretty free comment in various quarters. Most of Henry's
+acquaintance heartily approved his choice; but Mrs. Marygold, and a
+few like her, all with daughters of the "common" class, were deeply
+incensed at the idea of a "common kind of a girl" like Miss Clayton
+being forced into genteel society, a consequence that would of
+course follow her marriage. Mrs. Marygold hesitated not to declare
+that for her part, let others do as they liked, she was not going to
+associate with her--that was settled. She had too much regard to
+what was due to her station in life. As for Melinda, she had no very
+kind feelings for her successful rival--and such a rival too! A mere
+schoolmaster's daughter! And she hesitated not to speak of her often
+and in no very courteous terms.
+
+When the notes of invitation to the wedding at length came, which
+ceremony was to be performed in the house of Mr. Clayton, in
+Sycamore Row, Mrs. Marygold declared that to send her an invitation
+to go to such a place was a downright insult. As the time, however,
+drew near, and she found that Mrs. Harwood and a dozen others
+equally respectable in her eyes were going to the wedding, she
+managed to smother her indignation so far as, at length, to make up
+her mind to be present at the nuptial ceremonies. But it was not
+until her ears were almost stunned by the repeated and earnestly
+expressed congratulations to Mrs. Florence at the admirable choice
+made by her son, and that too by those whose tastes and opinions she
+dared not dispute, that she could perceive any thing even passable
+in the beautiful young bride.
+
+Gradually, however, as the younger Mrs. Florence, in the process of
+time, took her true position in the social circle, even Mrs.
+Marygold could begin to perceive the intrinsic excellence of her
+character, although even this was more a tacit assent to a universal
+opinion than a discovery of her own.
+
+As for Melinda, she was married about a year after Fanny Clayton's
+wedding, to a sprig of gentility with about as much force of
+character as herself. This took place on the same night that Lieut.
+Harwood, son of Mrs. Harwood before alluded to, led to the altar
+Mary Clayton, the sister of Fanny, who was conceded by all, to be
+the loveliest girl they had ever seen--lovely, not only in face and
+form, but loveliness itself in the sweet perfections of moral
+beauty. As for Lieut. Harwood, he was worthy of the heart he had
+won.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MAKING A SENSATION.
+
+
+
+
+
+"Do you intend going to Mrs. Walshingham's party, next week,
+Caroline?" asked Miss Melvina Fenton of her friend Caroline Gay. "It
+is said that it will be a splendid affair."
+
+"I have not made up my mind, Melvina."
+
+"O you'll go of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world."
+
+"I am much inclined to think that I will stay at home or spend my
+evening in some less brilliant assemblage," Caroline Gay replied in
+a quiet tone.
+
+"Nonsense, Caroline! There hasn't been such a chance to make a
+sensation this season."
+
+"And why should I wish to make a sensation, Melvina?"
+
+"Because it's the only way to attract attention. Now-a-days, the
+person who creates a sensation, secures the prize that a dozen
+quiet, retiring individuals are looking and longing after, in vain.
+We must dazzle if we would win."
+
+"That is, we must put on false colors, and deceive not only
+ourselves, but others."
+
+"How strangely you talk, Caroline! Every one now is attracted by
+show and _eclat_."
+
+"Not every one, I hope, Melvina."
+
+"Show me an exception."
+
+Caroline smiled as she answered,
+
+"Your friend Caroline, as you call her, I hope is one."
+
+"Indeed! And I suppose I must believe you. But come, don't turn
+Puritan. You are almost behind the age, as it is, and if you don't
+take care, you will get clear out of date, and either live and die
+an old maid, or have to put up with one of your quiet inoffensive
+gentlemen who hardly dare look a real briliant belle in the face."
+
+Caroline Gay could not help smiling at her friend's light bantering,
+even while she felt inclined to be serious in consideration of the
+false views of life that were influencing the conduct and affecting
+the future prospects of one, whose many good qualities of heart, won
+her love.
+
+"And if I should get off," she said, "with one of those quiet
+gentlemen you allude to, it will be about the height of my
+expectation."
+
+"Well, you are a queer kind of a girl, any how! But, do you know why
+I want to make a sensation at Mrs. Walshingham's?"
+
+"No. I would be pleased to hear."
+
+"Then I will just let you into a bit of a secret. I've set my heart
+on making a conquest of Henry Clarence."
+
+"Indeed!" ejaculated Caroline, with an emphasis that would have
+attracted Melvina's attention, had her thoughts and feelings not
+been at the moment too much engaged.
+
+"Yes, I have. He's so calm and cold, and rigidly polite to me
+whenever we meet, that I am chilled with the frigid temperature of
+the atmosphere that surrounds him. But as he is a prize worth the
+trouble of winning, I have set my heart on melting him down, and
+bringing him to my feet."
+
+Caroline smiled as her friend paused, but did not reply.
+
+"I know half a dozen girls now, who are breaking their hearts after
+him," continued the maiden. "But I'll disappoint them all, if there
+is power in a woman's winning ways to conquer. So you see, my lady
+Gay--Grave it should be--that I have some of the strongest reasons
+in the world, for wishing to be present at the 'come off' next week.
+Now you'll go, won't you?"
+
+"Perhaps I will, if it's only to see the effect of your
+demonstrations on the heart of Henry Clarence. But he is one of your
+quiet, inoffensive gentlemen, Melvina. How comes it that you set him
+as a prize?"
+
+"If he is quiet, there is fire in him. I've seen his eye flash, and
+his countenance brighten with thought too often, not to know of what
+kind of stuff he is made."
+
+"And if I were to judge of his character, he is not one to be caugnt
+by effect," Caroline remarked.
+
+"O, as to that, all men have their weak side. There isn't one, trust
+me, who can withstand the brilliant attractions of the belle of the
+ball room, such as, pardon my vanity, I hope to be on next Tuesday
+evening. I have seen a little of the world in my time, and have
+always observed, that whoever can eclipse all her fair compeers at
+one of these brilliant assemblages, possesses, for the time, a power
+that may be used to advantage. All the beaux flock around her, and
+vie with each other in kind attentions. If, then, she distinguish
+some individual of them above the rest, by her marked reciprocation
+of his attentions, he is won. The grateful fellow will never forsake
+her."
+
+"Quite a reasoner, upon my word! And so in this way you intend
+winning Henry Clarence?"
+
+"Of course I do. At least, I shall try hard."
+
+"And you will fail, I am much disposed to think."
+
+"I'm not sure of that. Henry Clarence is but a man."
+
+"Yet he is too close an observer to be deceived into any strong
+admiration of a ball-room belle."
+
+"You are behind the age, Caroline. Your quiet unobtrusiveness will I
+fear cause you to be passed by, while some one not half so worthy,
+will take the place which you should have held in the affections of
+a good husband."
+
+"Perhaps so. But, I wish to be taken for what I am. I want no man,
+who has not the good sense and discrimination to judge of my real
+character."
+
+"You will die an old maid, Caroline."
+
+"That may be. But, in all sincerity, I must say that I hope not."
+
+"You will go to the ball, of course?"
+
+"I think I will, Melvina."
+
+"Well, that settled, what are you going to wear?"
+
+"Something plain and simple, of course. But I have not thought of
+that."
+
+"O don't Caroline. You will make yourself singular."
+
+"I hope not, for I dislike singularity. But how are you going to
+dress? Splendid, of course, as you expect to make a sensation."
+
+"I'll try my best, I can assure you?"
+
+"Well, what kind of a dress are you going to appear in?"
+
+"I have ordered a robe of blue tulle, to be worn over blue silk. The
+robe to be open in front, of course, and confined to the silk-skirt
+with variegated roses."
+
+"And your head-dress?"
+
+"I shall have my hair ornamented with variegated roses, arranged
+over the brow like a coronet. Now, how do you like that?"
+
+"Not at all."
+
+"O, of course not. I might have known that your taste was too
+uneducated for that."
+
+"And I hope it will ever remain so, Melvina."
+
+"But how will _you_ dress, Caroline. Do let me hear, that I may put
+you right if you fix on any thing _outre_."
+
+"Well, really, Melvina, I have not given the subject a thought. But
+it never takes me long to choose. Let me see. A plain--"
+
+"Not plain, Caroline, for mercy sake!"
+
+"Yes. A plain white dress, of India muslin."
+
+"Plain white! O, don't Caroline--let me beg of you."
+
+"Yes, white it shall be."
+
+"Plain white! Why nobody will see you!"
+
+"O, yes. Among all you gay butterflies, I will become the observed
+of all observers," said Caroline, laughing.
+
+"Don't flatter yourself. But you will have some pink trimming, will
+you not?"
+
+"No, not a flower, nor ribbon, nor cord, nor tassel."
+
+"You will be an object of ridicule."
+
+"Not in a polite company of gentlemen and ladies, I hope!"
+
+"No; but--. And your head-dress, Caroline. That I hope will atone
+for the rest."
+
+"No, my own dark hair, plain--"
+
+"For mercy sake, Caroline! Not plain."
+
+"Yes, my hair plain."
+
+"And no ornament!"
+
+"O, yes--a very beautiful one."
+
+"Ah, that may help a little. A ray of sunshine on a barren waste."
+
+"A simple sprig of buds and half blown flowers."
+
+"The color?"
+
+"White, of course."
+
+"You are an original, Caroline. But I suppose I can't make you
+change your taste?"
+
+I hope not, Melvina."
+
+"I am sorry that I shall be compelled to throw you so far in the
+shade, my little Quakeress friend. The world will never know half
+your real worth, Caroline. You are hiding your light.
+
+"Many a gem of purest ray serene,
+The deep unfathomed caves of ocean bear--
+Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
+And waste its sweetness on the desert air."
+
+And as she repeated these lines, applying them to her friend,
+Melvina rose to depart.
+
+"You are resolved on trying to make a sensation, then?" said
+Caroline.
+
+"Of course, and what is more, I will succeed."
+
+"And win Henry Clarence?"
+
+"I hope so. He must be made of sterner stuff than I think him, if I
+do not."
+
+"Well, we shall see."
+
+"Yes, we will. But good-bye; I must go to the mantua-maker's this
+morning, to complete my orders."
+
+After Melvina Felton had gone, Caroline Gay's manner changed a good
+deal. Her cheek, the color of which had heightened during her
+conversation with her friend, still retained its beautiful glow, but
+the expression of her usually calm face was changed, and slightly
+marked by what seemed troubled thoughts. She sat almost motionless
+for nearly two minutes, and then rose up slowly with a slight sigh,
+and went to her chamber.
+
+It was early on the same evening that Henry Clarence, the subject of
+her conversation with Melvina, called in, as he not unfrequently
+did, to spend an hour in pleasant conversation with Caroline Gay. He
+found her in the parlor reading.
+
+"At your books, I see," he remarked, in a pleasant tone, as he
+entered.
+
+"Yes; I find my thoughts need exciting by contact with the thoughts
+of others. A good book helps us much sometimes."
+
+"You were reading a book then. May I ask its author?"
+
+"Degerando."
+
+"You are right in calling this a good book, Caroline," he said,
+glancing at the title page, to which she had opened, as she handed
+him the volume. "Self-education is a most important matter, and with
+such a guide as Degerando, few can go wrong."
+
+"So I think. He is not so abstract, nor does he border on
+transcendentalism, like Coleridge, who notwithstanding these
+peculiarities I am yet fond of reading. Degerando opens for you your
+own heart, and not only opens it, but gives you the means of
+self-control at every point of your exploration."
+
+The beautiful countenance of Caroline was lit up by pure thoughts,
+and Henry Clarence could not help gazing upon her with a lively
+feeling of admiration.
+
+"I cannot but approve your taste," he said.--"But do you not also
+read the lighter works of the day?"
+
+"I do not certainly pass all these by. I would lose much were I to
+do so. But I read only a few, and those emanating from such minds as
+James, Scott, and especially our own Miss Sedgwick. The latter is
+particularly my favorite. Her pictures, besides being true to
+nature, are pictures of home. The life she sketches, is the life
+that is passing all around us--perhaps in the family, unknown to us,
+who hold the relation of next door neighbors."
+
+"Your discrimination is just. After reading Miss Sedgwick, our
+sympathies for our fellow creatures take a more humane range. We are
+moved by an impulse to do good--to relieve the suffering--to
+regulate our own action in regard to others by a higher and better
+rule. You are a reader of the poets, too--and like myself, I
+believe, are an admirer of Wordsworth's calm and deep sympathy with
+the better and nobler principles of our nature."
+
+"The simple beauty of Wordsworth has ever charmed me. How much of
+the good and true, like precious jewels set in gold, are scattered
+thickly over his pages!"
+
+"And Byron and Shelly--can you not enjoy them?" Clarence asked, with
+something of lively interest in her reply, expressed in his
+countenance.
+
+"It were but an affectation to say that I can find nothing in them
+that is beautiful, nothing to please, nothing to admire. I have read
+many things in the writings of these men that were exquisitely
+beautiful. Many portions of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage are not
+surpassed for grandeur, beauty, and force, in the English language:
+and the Alastor of Shelly, is full of passages of exquisite
+tenderness and almost unequalled finish of versification. But I have
+never laid either of them down with feelings that I wished might
+remain. They excite the mind to a feverish and unhealthy action. We
+find little in them to deepen our sympathies with our
+fellows--little to make better the heart, or wiser the head."
+
+"You discriminate with clearness, Caroline," he said; "I did not
+know that you looked so narrowly into the merits of the world's
+favorites. But to change the subject; do you intend going to Mrs.
+Walsingham's next week?"
+
+"Yes, I think I will be there."
+
+"Are you fond of such assemblages?" the young man asked.
+
+"Not particularly so," Caroline replied. "But I think it right to
+mingle in society, although all of its forms are not pleasant to
+me."
+
+"And why do you mingle in it then, if its sphere is uncongenial?"
+
+"I cannot say, Mr. Clarence, that it is altogether uncongenial.
+Wherever we go, into society, we come in contact with much that is
+good. Beneath the false glitter, often assumed and worn without the
+heart's being in it, but from a weak spirit of conformity, lies much
+that is sound in principle, and healthy in moral life. In mingling,
+then, in society, we aid to develope and strengthen these good
+principles in others. We encourage, often, the weak and wavering,
+and bring back such as are beginning to wander from the simple
+dignity and truth of nature."
+
+"But is there not danger of our becoming dazzled by the false
+glitter?"
+
+"There may be. But we need not fear this, if we settle in our minds
+a right principle of action, and bind ourselves firmly to that
+principle."
+
+A pause followed this last remark, and then the subject of
+conversation was again changed to one of a more general nature.
+
+An evening or two after, Henry Clarence called in to see Melvina
+Fenton. Melvina was what may be called a showy girl. Her
+countenance, which was really beautiful, when animated, attracted
+every eye. She had a constant flow of spirits, had dipped into many
+books, and could make a little knowledge in these matters go a great
+way. Clarence could not conceal from himself that he admired
+Melvina, and, although his good sense and discrimination opposed
+this admiration, he could rarely spend an evening with Miss Fenton,
+without a strong prepossession in her favor. Still, with her, as
+with every one, he maintained a consistency of character that
+annoyed her. He could not be brought to flatter her in any way; and
+for this she thought him cold, and often felt under restraint in his
+society. One thing in her which he condemned, was her love of dress.
+Often he would express a wonder to himself, how a young woman of her
+good sense and information could be guilty of such a glaring
+departure from true taste.
+
+On this evening she received him in her very best manner. And she
+was skilful at acting; so skilful, as even to deceive the keen eye
+of Henry Clarence. Fully resolved on making a conquest, she studied
+his character, and tried to adapt herself to it.
+
+"I have your favorite here," she remarked, during the evening,
+lifting a copy of Wordsworth from the centre table.
+
+"Ah, indeed! so you have. Do you ever look into him, Miss Fenton?"
+
+"O yes. I did not know what a treasure was hid in this volume,
+until, from hearing your admiration of Wordsworth, I procured and
+read it with delighted interest."
+
+"I am glad that you are not disappointed. If you have a taste for
+his peculiar style of thinking and writing, you have in that volume
+an inexhaustible source of pleasure."
+
+"I have discovered that, Mr. Clarence, and must thank you for the
+delight I have received, and I hope I shall continue to receive."
+
+Nearly two hours were spent by the young man in the company of Miss
+Fenton, when he went away, more prepossessed in her favor than he
+had yet been. She had played her part to admiration. The truth was,
+Wordsworth, except in a few pieces, she had voted a dull book. By
+tasking herself, she had mastered some passages, to which she
+referred during the evening, and thus obtained credit for being far
+more familiar with the poet of nature than she ever was or ever
+would be. She went upon the principle of making a sensation, and
+thus carrying hearts, or the heart she wished to assault, by storm.
+
+"I believe that I really love that girl," Henry Clarence said, on
+the evening before the party at Mrs. Walsingham's to a young friend.
+
+"Who, Melvina Fenton?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"She is certainly a beautiful girl."
+
+"And interesting and intelligent."
+
+"Yes--I know of no one who, in comparison with her, bears off the
+palm."
+
+"And still, there is one thing about her that I do not like. She is
+too fond of dress and display."
+
+"O, that is only a little foible. No one is altogether perfect."
+
+"True--and the fault with me is, in looking after perfection."
+
+"Yes, I think you expect too much."
+
+"She is affectionate, and that will make up for many deficiencies.
+And what is more, I can see plainly enough that her heart is
+interested. The brightening of her cheek, the peculiar expression of
+her eye, not to be mistaken, when certain subjects are glanced at,
+convince me that I have only to woo to win her."
+
+"What do you think of Caroline Gay?" asked his friend.
+
+"Well, really, I can hardly tell what to think of her. She has
+intelligence, good sense, and correct views on almost every subject.
+But she is the antipodes of Melvina in feeling. If she were not so
+calm and cold, I could love her; but I do not want a stoic for a
+wife. I want a heart that will leap to my own, and send its emotion
+to the cheek and eye."
+
+"I am afraid you will not find an angel in this world," his friend
+said, smiling.
+
+"No, nor do I want an angel. But I want as perfect a woman as I can
+get."
+
+"You will have to take Melvina, then, for she has three exceeding
+good qualities, at least, overshadowing all others."
+
+"And what are they?"
+
+"Beauty."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"An affectionate heart."
+
+"Something to be desired above every thing else. And her next good
+quality?"
+
+"Her father is worth a 'plum.'"
+
+"I would dispense with that, were she less fond of show, and effect,
+and gay company."
+
+"O, they are only the accompaniments of girlhood. As a woman and a
+wife, she will lay them all aside."
+
+"I should certainly hope so, were I going to link my lot with hers."
+
+"Why, I thought your mind was made up."
+
+"Not positively. I must look on a little longer, and scan a little
+closer before I commit myself."
+
+"Well, success to your marrying expedition. I belong yet to the free
+list."
+
+In due time Mrs. Walshingham's splendid affair came off.
+
+"Isn't she an elegant woman!" exclaimed a young man in an under
+tone, to a friend, who stood near Henry Clarence, as Melvina swept
+into the room dressed in a style of elegance and effect that
+attracted every eye.
+
+"Beautiful!" responded his companion. "I must dance with her
+to-night. I always make a point to have one round at least with the
+belle of the ball-room."
+
+The individual who last spoke, was well known to all in that room as
+the betrayer of innocence. And Henry Clarence felt his cheek burn
+and his heart bound with an indignant throb as he heard this remark.
+
+"He will be disappointed, or I am mistaken," he said to himself as
+the two, who had been conversing near him, moved to another part of
+the room. "But if Melvina Fenton has so little of that sensitive
+innocence, that shrinks from the presence of guilt as to dance with
+him, and suffer her hand to be touched by his, my mind is made up. I
+will never marry her."
+
+"She is the queen of beauty to-night, Clarence," said a friend
+coming to Henry's side, and speaking in an under tone.
+
+"She is, indeed, very beautiful; but I cannot help thinking a little
+too showy. Her dress would be very good for the occasion were those
+variegated roses taken from their blue ground. Flowers never grow on
+such a soil; and her head dress is by far too conspicuous, and by no
+means in good taste."
+
+"Why you are critical to-night, Clarence. I thought Melvina one of
+your favorites?"
+
+"I must confess a little good will towards her, and perhaps that is
+the reason of my being somewhat particular in my observation of her
+style of dress. Certainly, she makes a most decided sensation here
+to-night; for every eye is upon her, and every tongue, that I have
+yet heard speak is teeming with words of admiration."
+
+"That she does," responded the friend. "Every other girl in the room
+will be dying of envy or neglect before the evening is over."
+
+"That would speak little for the gallantry of the men or the good
+sense of the young ladies," was the quiet reply.
+
+Several times the eye of Henry Clarence wandered around the room in
+search of Caroline--but he did not see her in the gay assemblage.
+
+"She told me she would be here," he mentally said, "and I should
+really like to mark the contrast between her and the brilliant Miss
+Fenton. Oh! there she is, as I live, leaning on the arm of her
+father, the very personification of innocence and beauty. But her
+face is too calm by half. I fear she is cold."
+
+Truly was she as Henry Clarence had said, the personification of
+innocence and beauty. Her dress of snowy whiteness, made perfectly
+plain, and fitting well a figure that was rather delicate, but of
+exquisite symmetry, contrasted beautifully with the gay and
+flaunting attire of those around her. Her head could boast but a
+single ornament, besides her own tastefully arranged hair, and that
+was a sprig of buds and half-blown flowers as white as the dress she
+had chosen for the evening. Her calm sweet face looked sweeter and
+more innocent than ever, for the contrast of the whole scene
+relieved her peculiar beauty admirably.
+
+"An angel?" ejaculated a young man by the side of Clarence, moving
+over towards the part of the room where Caroline stood, still
+leaning on the arm of her father.
+
+"We wanted but you to make our tableau complete," he said, with a
+graceful bow. "Let me relieve you, Mr. Gay, of the care of this
+young lady," he added offering his arm to Caroline--and in the next
+minute he had joined the promenade with the sweetest creature in the
+room by his side.
+
+The beautiful contrast that was evident to all, between Caroline,
+the plainest-dressed maiden in the room, and Melvina the gayest and
+most imposing, soon drew all eyes upon the former, and Melvina had
+the discrimination to perceive that she had a rival near the throne,
+in one whom she little dreamed of fearing; and whose innocent heart
+she knew too well to accuse of design.
+
+Soon cotillion parties were formed, and among the first to offer his
+hand to Melvina, was a young man named Sheldon, the same alluded to
+as declaring that he would dance with her, as he always did with the
+belle of the ball room. Melvina knew his character well, and Henry
+Clarence was aware that she possessed this knowledge. His eye was
+upon her, and she knew it. But she did not know of the determination
+that he formed or else she would have hesitated.
+
+"The most splendid man in the room, and the most graceful dancer,"
+were the thoughts that glanced through her mind, as she smiled an
+assent to his invitation to become his partner. "I shall not yet
+lose my power."
+
+And now all eyes were again upon the brilliant beauty threading the
+mazy circles, with glowing cheek and sparkling eye. And few thought
+of blaming her for dancing with Sheldon, whose character ought to
+have banished him from virtuous society. But there was one whose
+heart sickened as he looked on, and that one was Henry Clarence. He
+lingered near the group of dancers but a few minutes, and then
+wandered away to another room.
+
+"Permit me to transfer my company, Mr. Clarence," said the young man
+who had thus far monopolized the society of Caroline Gay. "I will
+not be selfish; and besides, I fear I am becoming too dull for my
+fair friend here."
+
+With a bow and a smile, Clarence received on his arm the fair girl.
+He felt for her a tenderer regard than had heretofore warmed his
+heart, as he strolled through the rooms and listened to her sweet,
+penetrating voice. And whenever he turned and looked her in the
+face, he saw that in the expression of her eyes which he had never
+marked before--something of tenderness that made his own heart beat
+with a quicker motion. As they drew near the dancers, they observed
+Sheldon with Melvina leaning on his arm, and two or three others,
+engaged in maikng up another cotillion.
+
+"We want but one more couple, and here they are," said Sheldon, as
+Clarence and Caroline came up.
+
+"Will you join this set?" asked Clarence, in a low tone.
+
+"Not _this_ one," she replied.
+
+"Miss Gay does not wish to dance now," her companion said, and they
+moved away.
+
+But the cotillion was speedily formed without them, and the dance
+proceeded.
+
+Half an hour after, while Henry Clarence and Caroline were sitting
+on a lounge, engaged in close conversation, Sheldon came up, and
+bowing in his most graceful manner, and, with his blandest smile,
+said,
+
+"Can I have the pleasure of dancing with Miss Gay, this evening?"
+
+"No, sir," was the quiet, firm reply of the maiden, while she looked
+him steadily in the face.
+
+Sheldon turned hurriedly away, for he understood the rebuke, the
+first he had yet met with in the refined, fashionable, virtuous
+society of one of the largest of the Atlantic cities.
+
+The heart of Henry Clarence blessed the maiden by his side.
+
+"You are not averse to dancing, Caroline?" he said.
+
+"O no. But I do not dance with _every_ one."
+
+"In that you are right, and I honor your decision and independence
+of character."
+
+During the remainder of the evening, she danced several times, more
+frequently with Henry than with any other, but never in a cotillion
+of which Sheldon was one of the partners. Much to the pain and alarm
+of Melvina, Clarence did not offer to dance with her once; and long
+before the gay assemblage broke up, her appearance had failed to
+produce any sensation. The eye tired of viewing her gaudy trapping,
+and turned away unsatisfied. But let Caroline go where she would,
+she was admired by all. None wearied of her chaste, simple and
+beautiful attire; none looked upon her mild, innocent face, without
+an expression, tacit or aloud, of admiration. Even the rebuked, and
+for a time angered, Sheldon, could not help ever and anon seeking
+her out amid the crowd, and gazing upon her with a feeling of
+respect that he tried in vain to subdue.
+
+Melvina had sought to produce a "sensation" by gay and imposing
+attire, and after a brief and partial success, lost her power. But
+Caroline, with no wish to be noticed, much less to be the reigning
+belle of the evening, consulting her own pure taste, went in simple
+garments, and won the spontaneous admiration of all, and, what was
+more, the heart of Henry Clarence. He never, after that evening,
+could feel any thing of his former tenderness towards Melvina
+Felton. The veil had fallen from his eyes. He saw the difference
+between the desire of admiration, and a simple love of truth and
+honor, too plainly, to cause him to hesitate a moment longer in his
+choice between two so opposite in their characters. And yet, to the
+eye of an inattentive observer nothing occurred during the progress
+of Mrs. Walshingham's party more than ordinarily takes place on such
+occasions. All seemed pleased and happy, and Melvina the happiest of
+the whole. And yet she had signally failed in her well-laid scheme
+to take the heart of Henry Clarence--while Caroline, with no such
+design, and in simply following the promptings of a pure heart and a
+right taste, had won his affectionate regard.
+
+It was some three or four months after the party at Mrs.
+Walshingham's, that Melvina Fenton and Caroline Gay were alone in
+the chamber of the latter, in close and interested conversation.
+
+"I have expected as much," the former said, in answer to some
+communication made to her by the latter.
+
+"Then you are not surprised?"
+
+"Not at all."
+
+"And I hope not pained by the intelligence?"
+
+"No, Caroline, not now," her friend said, smiling; "though two or
+three months ago it would have almost killed me. I, too, have been
+wooed and won."
+
+"Indeed! That is news. And who is it, Melvina? I am eager to know."
+
+"Martin Colburn."
+
+"A gentleman, and every way worthy of your hand. But how in the
+world comes it that so quiet and modest a young man as Martin has
+now the dashing belle?"
+
+"It has occurred quite naturally, Caroline. The dashing belle has
+gained a little more good sense than she had a few months ago. She
+has not forgotten the party at Mrs. Walsaingham's. And by the bye,
+Caroline, how completely you out-generalled me on that occasion. I
+had a great mind for a while never to forgive you."
+
+"You are altogether mistaken, Melvina," Caroline said, with a
+serious air. "I did not act a part on that occasion. I went but in
+my true character, and exhibited no other."
+
+"It was nature, then, eclipsing art; truth of character outshining
+the glitter of false assumption. But all that is past, and I am
+wiser and better for it, I hope. You will be happy, I know, with
+Henry Clarence, for he is worthy of you, and can appreciate your
+real excellence; and I shall be happy, I trust, with the man of my
+choice."
+
+"No doubt of it, Melvina. And by the way," Caroline said, laughing,
+"we shall make another 'sensation,' and then we must be content to
+retire into peaceful domestic obscurity. You will have a brilliant
+time, I suppose?"
+
+"O yes. I must try my hand at creating one more sensation, the last
+and most imposing; and, as my wedding comes the first, you must be
+my bridesmaid. You will not refuse?"
+
+"Not if we can agree as to how we are to dress. We ought to be alike
+in this, and yet I can never consent to appear in any thing but what
+is plain, and beautiful for its simplicity."
+
+"You shall arrange all these. You beat me the last time in creating
+a sensation, and now I will give up to your better taste."
+
+And rarely has a bride looked sweeter than did Melvina Fenton on her
+wedding-day. Still, she was eclipsed by Caroline, whose native grace
+accorded so well with her simple attire, that whoever looked upon
+her, looked again, and to admire. The "sensation" they created was
+not soon forgotten.
+
+Caroline was married in a week after, and then the fair heroines of
+our story passed from the notice of the fashionable world, and were
+lost with the thousands who thus yearly desert the gay circles, and
+enter the quiet sphere and sweet obscurity of domestic life.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+SOMETHING FOR A COLD.
+
+
+
+
+
+"Henry," said Mr. Green to his little son Henry, a lad in his eighth
+year, "I want you to go to the store for me."
+
+Mr. Green was a working-man, who lived in a comfortable cottage,
+which he had built from money earned from honest industry. He was,
+moreover, a sober, kind-hearted man, well liked by all his
+neighbors, and beloved by his own family.
+
+"I'm ready, father," said Henry, who left his play, and went to look
+for his cap, the moment he was asked to go on an errand.
+
+"Look in the cupboard, and get the pint flask. It's on the lower
+shelf."
+
+Henry did as desired, and then asked--"What shall I get, father?"
+
+"Tell Mr. Brady to send me a pint of good Irish whiskey."
+
+The boy tripped lightly away, singing as he went. He was always
+pleased to do an errand for his father.
+
+"This cold of mine gets worse," remarked Mr. Green to his wife, as
+Henry left the house. "I believe I'll try old Mr. Vandeusen's
+remedy--a bowl of hot whiskey-punch. He says it always cures him; it
+throws him into a free perspiration, and the next morning he feels
+as clear as a bell."
+
+"It is not always good," remarked Mrs. Green, "to have the pores
+open. We are more liable to take cold."
+
+"Very true. It is necessary to be careful how we expose ourselves
+afterwards."
+
+"I think I can make you some herb-tea, that would do you as much
+good as the whiskey punch," said Mrs. Green.
+
+"Perhaps you could," returned her husband, "but I don't like your
+bitter stuff. It never was to my fancy."
+
+Mrs. Green smiled, and said no more.
+
+"A few moments afterwards, the door opened, and Henry came in,
+looking pale and frightened.
+
+"Oh, father!" he cried, panting, "Mr. Brooks is killing Margaret!"
+
+"What!" Mr. Green started to his feet.
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed the child, "he's killing her! he's killing her! I
+saw him strike her on the head with his fist." And tears rolled over
+the boy's cheeks.
+
+Knowing Brooks to be a violent man when intoxicated, Mr. Green lost
+not a moment in hesitation or reflection, but left his house
+hurriedly, and ran to the dwelling of his neighbor, which was near
+at hand. On entering the house, a sad scene presented itself. The
+oldest daughter of Brooks, a girl in her seventeenth year, was lying
+upon a bed, insensible, while a large bruised and bloody spot on the
+side of her face showed where the iron fist of her brutal father had
+done its fearful if not fatal work. Her mother bent over her,
+weeping; while two little girls were shrinking with frightened looks
+into a corner of the room.
+
+Mr. Green looked around for the wretched man, who, in the insanity
+of drunkenness, had done this dreadful deed; but he was not to be
+seen.
+
+"Where is Mr. Brooks?" he asked.
+
+"He has gone for the doctor," was replied.
+
+And in a few minutes he came in with a physician. He was partially
+sobered, and his countenance had a troubled expression. His eyes
+shrunk beneath the steady, rebuking gaze of his neighbors.
+
+"Did you say your daughter had fallen down stairs?" said the doctor,
+as he leaned over Margaret, and examined the dreadful bruise on her
+cheek.
+
+"Yes--yes," stammered the guilty father, adding this falsehood to
+the evil act.
+
+"Had the injury been a few inches farther up, she would ere this
+have breathed her last," said the doctor--looking steadily at
+Brooks, until the eyes of the latter sunk to the floor.
+
+Just then there were signs of returning life in the poor girl, and
+the doctor turned towards her all his attention. In a little while,
+she began to moan, and moved her arms about, and soon opened her
+eyes.
+
+After she was fully restored again to conscious life, Mr. Green
+returned to his home, where he was met with eager questions from his
+wife.--After describing all he had seen, he made this remark--
+
+"There are few better men than Thomas Brooks when he it sober; but
+when he is drunk he acts like a demon."
+
+"He must be a demon to strike with his hard fist, a delicate
+creature like his daughter Margaret. And she is so good a girl. Ah,
+me! to what dreadful consequences does this drinking lead!"
+
+"It takes away a man's reason," said Mr. Green, "and when this is
+gone, he becomes the passive subject of evil influences. He is, in
+fact, no longer a man."
+
+Mrs. Green sighed deeply.
+
+"His poor wife!" she murmured; "how my heart aches for her, and his
+poor children! If the husband and father changes, from a guardian
+and provider for his family, into their brutal assailant, to whom
+can they look for protection? Oh, it is sad! sad!"
+
+"It is dreadful! dreadful!" said Mr. Green.--
+
+"It is only a few years ago," he added, "since Brooks began to show
+that he was drinking too freely. He always liked his glass, but he
+knew how to control himself, and never drowned his reason in his
+cups. Of late, however, he seems to have lost all control over
+himself. I never saw a man abandon himself so suddenly."
+
+"All effects of this kind can be traced back to very small
+beginnings," remarked Mrs. Green.
+
+"Yes. A man does not become a drunkard in a day. The habit is one of
+very gradual formation."
+
+"But when once formed," said Mrs. Green, "hardly any power seems
+strong enough to break it. It clings to a man as if it were a part
+of himself."
+
+"And we might almost say that it was a part of himself," replied Mr.
+Green: "for whatever we do from a confirmed habit, fixes in the mind
+an inclination thereto, that carries us away as a vessel is borne
+upon the current of a river."
+
+"How careful, then, should every one be, not to put himself in the
+way of forming so dangerous a habit. Well do I remember when Mr.
+Brooks was married. A more promising young man could not be
+found--nor one with a kinder heart. The last evil I feared for him
+and his gentle wife was that of drunkenness. Alas! that this
+calamity should have fallen upon their household.--What evil, short
+of crime, is greater than this?"
+
+"It is so hopeless," remarked Mr. Green. "I have talked with Brooks
+a good many times, but it has done no good. He promises amendment,
+but does not keep his promise a day."
+
+"Touch not, taste not, handle not. This is the only safe rule," said
+Mrs. Green.
+
+"Yes, I believe it," returned her husband.--"The man who never
+drinks is in no danger of becoming a drunkard."
+
+For some time, Mr. and Mrs. Green continued to converse about the
+sad incident which had just transpired in the family of their
+neighbor, while their little son, upon whose mind the fearful sight
+he had witnessed was still painfully vivid, sat and listened to all
+they were saying, with a clear comprehension of the meaning of the
+whole.
+
+After awhile the subject was dropped. There had been a silence of
+some minutes, when the attention of Mr. Green was again called to
+certain unpleasant bodily sensations, and he said--
+
+"I declare! this cold of mine is very bad. I must do something to
+break it before it gets worse. Henry, did you get that Irish whiskey
+I sent for?"
+
+"No, sir," replied the child, "I was so frightened when I saw Mr.
+Brooks strike Margaret, that I ran back."
+
+"Oh, well, I don't wonder! It was dreadful. Mr. Brooks was very
+wicked to do so. But take the flask and run over to the store. Tell
+Brady that I want a pint of good Irish whiskey."
+
+Henry turned from his father, and went to the table on which he had
+placed the flask. He did not move with his usual alacrity.
+
+"It was whiskey, wasn't it," said the child, as he took the bottle
+in his hand, "that made Mr. Brooks strike Margaret?" And he looked
+so earnestly into his father's face, and with so strange an
+expression, that the man felt disturbed, while he yet wondered at
+the manner of the lad.
+
+"Yes," replied Mr. Green, "it was the whiskey. Mr. Brooks, if he had
+been sober, would not have hurt a hair of her head."
+
+Henry looked at the bottle, then at his father, in so strange a way,
+that Mr. Green, who did not at first comprehend what was in the
+child's thoughts wondered still more. All was soon understood, for
+Harry, bursting into tears, laid down the flask, and, throwing his
+arms around his father's neck, said--
+
+"Oh, father! don't get any whiskey!"
+
+Mr. Green deeply touched by the incident, hugged his boy tightly to
+his bosom. He said--
+
+"I only wanted it for medicine, dear. But, never mind. I won't let
+such dangerous stuff come into my house. Mother shall make me some
+of her herb-tea, and that will do as well."
+
+Henry looked up, after a while, timidly.--"You're not angry with me,
+father?" came from his innocent lips.
+
+"Oh, no, my child! Why should I be angry?" replied Mr. Green,
+kissing the cheek of his boy. Then the sunshine came back again to
+Henry's heart, and he was happy as before.
+
+Mrs. Green made the herb-tea for her husband, and it proved quite as
+good for him as the whiskey-punch. A glass or two of cold water, on
+going to bed, would probably have been of more real advantage in the
+case, than either of these doubtful remedies.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE PORTRAIT.
+
+
+
+
+
+"BLESS the happy art!" ejaculated Mrs. Morton, wiping the moisture
+from her eyes. "Could anything be more perfect than that likeness of
+his sweet, innocent face? Dear little Willie! I fear I love him too
+much."
+
+"It is indeed perfect," said Mr. Morton, after viewing the picture
+in many lights. "My favourite painter has surpassed himself. What
+could be more like life, than that gentle, half-pensive face looking
+so quiet and thoughtful, and yet so full of childhood's most
+innocent, happy expression?"
+
+Mr. Morton, here introduced to the reader, was a wealthy merchant of
+Philadelphia, and a liberal patron of the arts. He had, already,
+obtained several pictures from Sully, who was, with him, as an
+artist, a great favourite. The last order had just been sent home.
+It was a portrait of his youngest, and favourite child--a sweet
+little boy, upon whose head three summers had not yet smiled.
+
+"I would not take the world for it!" said Mrs. Morton after looking
+at it long and steadily for the hundredth time. "Dear little fellow!
+A year from now, and how changed he will be. And every year he will
+be changing and changing; but this cannot alter, and even from the
+period of manhood, we may look back and see our Willie's face when
+but a child."
+
+"Every one who is able," remarked Mr. Morton, "should have the
+portraits of his children taken. What better legacy could a father
+leave to his child, than the image of his own innocent face! Surely,
+it were enough to drive away thoughts of evil, and call up old and
+innocent affections, for any man, even the man of crime, to look for
+but a moment upon the image of what he was in childhood."
+
+"And yet there are some," added Mrs. Morton, "who call portraits,
+and indeed, all paintings, mere luxuries--meaning, thereby,
+something that is utterly useless."
+
+"Yes, there are such, but even they, it seems to me, might perceive
+their use in preserving the innocent features of their children. The
+good impressions made in infancy and childhood, are rarely if ever
+lost; they come back upon every one at times, and are, frequently,
+all-powerful in the influence they exert against evil. How like a
+spell to call back those innocent thoughts and affections, would be
+the image of a man's face in childhood! No one, it seems to me,
+could resist its influence."
+
+One, two, and three years passed away, and every one wrought some
+change upon "little Willie," but each change seemed to the fond
+parents an improvement,--yet, did they not look back to earlier
+years, as they glanced at his picture, with less of tender emotion,
+and heart-stirring delight. But now a sad change, the saddest of all
+changes that occur, took place. Disease fastened upon the child, and
+ere the parents, and fond sisters of a younger and only brother,
+were fully sensible of danger, the spirit of the child had fled. We
+will not linger to pain the reader with any minute description of
+the deep and abiding grief that fell, like a shadow from an evil
+wing overspreading them, upon the household of Mr. Morton, but pass
+on to scenes more exciting, if not less moving to the heart.
+
+For many weeks, Mrs. Morton could not trust herself to look up to
+the picture that still hung in its place, the picture of her lost
+one. But after time had, in some degree, mellowed the grief that
+weighed down her spirits, she found a melancholy delight in gazing
+intently upon the beautiful face that was still fresh and
+unchanged--that still looked the impersonation of innocence.
+
+"He was too pure and too lovely for the earth," she said, one day,
+to her husband, about two months after his death, leaning her head
+upon his shoulder--"and so the angels took him."
+
+"Then do not grieve for him," Mr. Morton replied in a soothing tone.
+"We know that he is with the angels, and where they are, is neither
+evil, nor sorrow, nor pain. Much as I loved him, much as I grieved
+for his loss, I would not recall him if I could. But, our picture
+cannot die. And though it is mute and inanimate, yet it is something
+to awaken remembrances, that, even though sad, we delight to
+cherish. It is something to remind us, that we have a child in
+heaven."
+
+But the loss of their child seemed but the beginning of sorrows to
+Mr. Morton and his family. An unexpected series of failures in
+business so fatally involved him, that extrication became
+impossible. He was an honest man, and therefore, this sudden
+disastrous aspect of affairs was doubly painful, for he knew no
+other course but the honourable giving up of everything. On learning
+the whole truth in relation to his business, he came home, and after
+opening the sad news to his wife, he called his family around him.
+
+"My dear children," he said, "I have painful news to break to you;
+but you cannot know it too soon. Owing to a succession of heavy
+failures, my business has become embarrassed beyond hope. I must
+give up all,--even our comfortable and elegant home must be changed
+for one less expensive, and less comfortable. Can you, my children,
+bear with cheerfulness and contentment such a changed condition?"
+
+The heart of each one had already been subdued and chastened by the
+affliction that removed the little playmate of all so suddenly away,
+and now the news of a painful and unlooked-for reverse came with a
+shock that, for a few moments, bewildered and alarmed.
+
+"Are not my children willing to share the good and evil of life with
+their father?" Mr. Morton resumed after the gush of tears that
+followed the announcement of his changed fortunes had in a degree
+subsided.
+
+"Yes, dear father! be they what they may," Constance, the eldest, a
+young lady in her seventeenth year, said, looking up affectionately
+through her tears.
+
+Mary, next in years, pressed up to her father's side, and twining an
+arm around his neck, kissed his forehead tenderly. She did not
+speak; for her heart was too full; but it needed no words to assure
+him that her love was as true as the needle to the pole.
+
+Eliza, but twelve, and like an unfolding bud half revealing the
+loveliness and beauty within, could not fully comprehend the whole
+matter. But enough she did understand, to know that her father was
+in trouble, and this brought her also to his side.
+
+"Do not think of us, dear father!" Constance said, after the pause
+of a few oppressive moments. "Let the change be what it may, it
+cannot take from us our father's love, and our father's honourable
+principles. Nor can it change the true affection of his children. I
+feel as if I could say, With my father I could go unto prison or to
+death."
+
+The father was much moved. "That trial, my dear children, I trust
+you may never be called upon to meet. The whole extent of the
+painful one into which you are about to enter, you cannot now
+possibly realize, and I earnestly hope that your hearts may not fail
+you while passing through the deep waters. But one thought may
+strengthen; think that by your patience and cheerfulness, your
+father's burdens will be lightened. He cannot see you pained without
+suffering a double pang himself."
+
+"Trust us, father," was the calm, earnest, affectionate reply of
+Constance; and it was plain, by the deep resolution expressed in the
+faces of her sisters, that she spoke for them as well as herself.
+
+And now, the shadow that was obscuring their earthly prospects,
+began to fall thicker upon them. At the meeting of his creditors
+which was called, he gave a full statement of his affairs.
+
+"And now," he said, "I am here to assign everything. In consequence
+of heavy, and you all must see, unavoidable, losses, this assignment
+will include all my property, and still leave a small deficiency.
+Beyond that, I can only hope for success in my future exertions, and
+pledge that success in anticipation. Can I do more?"
+
+"We could not ask for more certainly," was the cold response of a
+single individual, made in a tone of voice implying no sympathy with
+the debtor's misfortunes, but rather indicating disappointment that
+the whole amount of his claim could not be made out of the assets.
+
+Some degree of sympathy, some kind consideration for his painful
+condition Mr. Morton naturally looked for, but nearly every kind
+emotion for him was stifled by the sordid disappointment which each
+one of his former business friends felt in losing what they valued,
+as their feelings indicated, above everything else--their money.
+
+"When will the assignment be made?" was the next remark.
+
+"Appoint your trustees, and I am ready at any moment."
+
+Trustees were accordingly appointed, and these had a private
+conference with, and received their instructions from the creditors.
+In a week they commenced their work of appraisement. After a
+thorough and careful examination into accounts, deeds, mortgages,
+and documents of various kinds, and becoming satisfied that every
+thing was as Mr. Morton had stated it, it was found that the
+property represented by these would cover ninety cents in the
+dollar.
+
+"Your furniture and plate comes next," said one of the trustees.
+
+Mr. Morton bowed and said, while his heart sunk in his bosom--
+
+"To-morrow I will be ready for that."
+
+"But why not to-day?" inquired one of the trustees. "We are anxious
+to get through with this unpleasant business."
+
+"I said to-morrow," Mr. Morton replied, while a red spot burned upon
+his cheek.
+
+The trustees looked at each other, and hesitated.
+
+"Surely," said the debtor, "you cannot hesitate to let me have a
+single day in which to prepare my family for so painful a duty as
+that which is required of me."
+
+"We should suppose," remarked one of the trustees, in reply, "that
+your family were already prepared for that."
+
+The debtor looked the last speaker searchingly in the face for some
+moments, and then said, as if satisfied with the examination--
+
+"Then you are afraid that I will make way, in the mean time, with
+some of my plate!"
+
+"I did not say so, Mr. Morton. But, you know we are under oath to
+protect the interest of the creditors."
+
+An indignant reply trembled on the lips of Morton, but he curbed his
+feelings with a strong effort.
+
+"I am ready now," he said, after a few moments of hurried
+self-communion. "The sooner it is over the better."
+
+Half an hour after he entered his house with the trustees, and sworn
+appraiser. He left them in the parlour below, while he held a brief
+but painful interview with his family.
+
+"Do not distress yourself, dear father!" Constance said, laying her
+hand upon his shoulder. We expected this, and have fully nerved
+ourselves for the trial."
+
+"May he who watches over, and regards us all, bless you, my
+children!" the father said with emotion, and hurriedly left them.
+
+A careful inventory of the costly furniture that adorned the
+parlours was first taken. The plate was then displayed, rich and
+beautiful, and valued; and then the trustees lifted their eyes to
+the wall--they were connoisseurs in the fine arts; at least one of
+them was, but a taste for the arts had, in his case, failed to
+soften his feelings. He looked at a picture much as a dealer in
+precious stones looks at a diamond, to determine its money-value.
+
+"That is from Guido," he said, looking admiringly at a sweet
+picture, which had always been a favourite of Mr. Morton's, "and it
+is worth a hundred dollars."
+
+"Shall I put it down at that?" asked the appraiser, who had little
+experience in valuing pictures.
+
+"Yes; put it down at one hundred. It will bring that under the
+hammer, any day," replied the connoisseur. "Ah, what have we here? A
+copy from Murillo's 'Good Shepherd.' Isn't that a lovely picture?
+Worth a hundred and fifty, every cent. And here is 'Our Saviour,'
+from Da Vinci's celebrated picture of the Last Supper; and a
+'Magdalen' from Correggio. You are a judge of pictures, I see, Mr.
+Morton! But what is this?" he said, eyeing closely a large
+engraving, richly framed.
+
+"A proof, as I live! from the only plate worth looking at of
+Raphael's Madonna of St. Sixtus. I'll give fifty dollars for that,
+myself."
+
+The pictures named were all entered up by the appraiser, and then
+the group continued their examination.
+
+"Here is a Sully," remarked the trustee above alluded to, pausing
+before Willie's portrait.
+
+"But that is a portrait," Mr. Morton said, advancing, while his
+heart leaped with a new and sudden fear.
+
+"If it is, Mr. Morton, it is a valuable picture, worth every cent of
+two hundred dollars. We cannot pass that, Sir."
+
+"What!" exclaimed Mr. Morton, "take my Willie's portrait? O no, you
+cannot do that!"
+
+"It is no doubt a hard case, Mr. Morton," said one of the trustees.
+"But we must do our duty, however painful. That picture is a most
+beautiful one, and by a favourite artist, and will bring at least
+two hundred dollars. It is not a necessary article of household
+furniture, and is not covered by the law. We should be censured, and
+justly too, if we were to pass it."
+
+For a few moments, Mr. Morton's thoughts were so bewildered and his
+feelings so benumbed by the sudden and unexpected shock, that he
+could not rally his mind enough to decide what to say or how to act.
+To have the unfeeling hands of creditors, under the sanction of the
+law, seize upon his lost Willie's portrait, was to him so unexpected
+and sacrilegious a thing, that he could scarcely realize it, and he
+stood wrapt in painful, dreamy abstraction, until roused by the
+direction,
+
+"Put it down at a hundred and fifty," given to the appraiser, by one
+of the trustees.
+
+"Are your hearts made of iron?" he asked bitterly, roused at once
+into a distinct consciousness of what was transpiring.
+
+"Be composed, Mr. Morton," was the cold, quiet reply.
+
+"And thus might the executioner say to the victim he was
+torturing--_Be composed_. But surely, when I tell you that that
+picture is the likeness of my youngest child, now no more, you will
+not take it from us. To lose that, would break his mother's heart.
+Take all the rest, and I will not murmur. But in the name of
+humanity spare me the portrait of my angel boy."
+
+There was a brief, cold, silent pause, and the trustees continued
+their investigations. Sick at heart, Mr. Morton turned from them and
+sought his family. The distressed, almost agonized expression of his
+countenance was noticed, as he came into the chamber where they had
+retired.
+
+"Is it all over?" asked Mrs. Morton.
+
+"Not yet," was the sad answer.
+
+The mother and daughter knew how much their father prized his choice
+collection of pictures, and supposed that giving an inventory of
+them had produced the pain that he seemed to feel. Of the truth,
+they had not the most distant idea. For a few minutes he sat with
+them, and then, recovering in some degree, his self-possession, he
+returned and kept with the trustees, until everything in the house
+that could be taken, was valued. He closed the door after them, when
+they left, and again returned to his family.
+
+"Have they gone?" asked Constance, in a low, almost whispering
+voice.
+
+"Yes, my child, they have gone at last."
+
+"And what have they left us?" inquired Mrs. Morton somewhat
+anxiously.
+
+"Nothing but the barest necessaries for housekeeping."
+
+"They did not take our carpets and--"
+
+"Yes, Mary," said Mr. Morton interrupting her, "every article in the
+parlors has been set down as unnecessary."
+
+"O, father!" exclaimed the eldest daughter, "can it be possible?"
+
+"Yes, my child, it is possible. We are left poor, indeed. But for
+all that I would not care, if they had only left us Willie's
+portrait!"
+
+Instantly the mother and daughters rose to their feet, with blanched
+cheeks, and eyes staring wildly into the father's face.
+
+"O no, not Willie's portrait, surely!" the mother at length said,
+mournfully. "We cannot give that up. It is of no comparative value
+to others, and is all in all to us."
+
+"I plead with them to spare us that. But it was no use," Mr. Morton
+replied. "The tenderest ties in nature were nothing to them in
+comparison with a hundred and fifty dollars."
+
+"But surely," urged Constance, "the law will protect us in the
+possession of the picture. Who ever heard of a portrait being seized
+upon by a creditor?"
+
+"It is a cruel omission; but nevertheless, Constance, there is no
+law to protect us in keeping it."
+
+"But they shall _not_ have it!" Mary said indignantly. "I will take
+it away this very night, where they can never find it."
+
+"That would be doing wrong my child," Mr. Morton replied. "I owe
+these men, and this picture, they say, will bring a hundred and
+fifty dollars. If they claim it, then, I cannot honestly withhold
+it. Let us, then, my dear children, resolve to keep our consciences
+clear of wrong, and endeavor patiently to bear with our afflictions.
+They can only result in good to us so far as we humbly acquiesce in
+them. Nothing happens by chance. Every event affecting us, I have
+often told you, is ordered or permitted by Divine Providence, and is
+intended to make us better and wiser. This severest trial of all, if
+patiently borne, will, I am sure, result in good."
+
+But, even while he tried to encourage and bear up the drooping
+spirits of his family, his own heart sunk within him at the thought
+of losing the portrait of his child.
+
+One week sufficed to transfer his property into the hands of the
+individuals appointed to receive it. He sought to make no
+unnecessary delay, and, therefore, it was quickly done. At the end
+of that time, he removed his family into a small house at the
+northern extremity of the city, and furnished it with the scanty
+furniture that, as an insolvent debtor the law allowed him to claim.
+Ere he left his beautiful mansion with his wife and children, they
+all assembled in the parlour where still hung Willie's sweet
+portrait. The calm, innocent face of the child had for their eyes a
+melancholy beauty, such as it had never worn before; and they gazed
+upon it until every cheek was wet, and every heart oppressed. A sale
+of the furniture had been advertised for that day, and already the
+house had been thrown open. Several strangers had come in to make
+examinations before the hour of sale, and among them was a young
+man, who on observing the family in the parlour, instinctively
+withdrew; not, however before he had glanced at the picture they
+were all looking at so earnestly. Aware that strangers were
+gathering, Mr. Morton and his family soon withdrew, each taking a
+last, lingering, tearful glance at the dear face looking so sweet,
+so calm, so innocent.
+
+Their new home presented a painful and dreary contrast to the one
+from which they had just parted. In the parlours, the floors of
+which were all uncarpeted there were a dozen chairs, and a table,
+and that was all! Bedding barely enough for the family, with but
+scanty furniture, sufficed for the chambers; and the same exacting
+hands had narrowed down to a stinted remnant the appendages of the
+kitchen.
+
+It was an hour after the closing in of evening, and the family
+greatly depressed in spirits, were gathered in one of the chambers,
+sad, gloomy, and silent, when the servant which they had retained
+came in and said that Mr. Wilkinson was below and wished to see Miss
+Constance.
+
+"Indeed, indeed, mother, I cannot see him!" Constance said bursting
+into tears. "It is cruel for him to come here so soon," she added,
+after she had a little regained her self-possession.
+
+"You can do no less than see him Constance," her mother said. "Do
+not lose that consciousness of internal truth of character which
+alone can sustain you in your new relations. You are not changed,
+even if outward circumstances are no longer as they were. And if Mr.
+Wilkinson does not regard these do not you. Meet him my child, as
+you have ever met him."
+
+"We have only met as friends," Constance replied, while her voice
+trembled in spite of her efforts to be calm.
+
+"Then meet now as friends, and equals. Remember, that, all that is
+of real worth in you remains. Adversity cannot rob you of your true
+character."
+
+"Your mother has spoken well and wisely," Mr. Morton said. "If Mr.
+Wilkinson, whom I know to be a man of most sterling integrity of
+character, still wishes your society, or ours, it must not, from any
+foolish pride or weakness on our part, be denied."
+
+"Then I will see him, and try to meet him as I should, though I feel
+that the task will be a hard one," Constance replied. And her pale
+cheek and swimming eye, told but too well, that it would need all
+her efforts to maintain her self-possession.
+
+In a few minutes she descended and met Mr. Wilkinson in the parlour.
+
+"Pardon me," he said advancing and taking her hand as she entered,
+"for so soon intruding upon you after the sad change in your
+condition. But I should have been untrue to the kind feelings I bear
+yourself and family, had I, from a principle of false delicacy,
+staid away. I trust I shall be none the less welcome now than
+before."
+
+"We must all esteem the kindness that prompted your visit,"
+Constance replied with a strong effort to subdue the troubled
+emotions within, and which were but too plainly indicated, by her
+now flushed cheek and trembling lips.
+
+"No other feeling induced me to call, except indeed, one stronger
+than that possibly could be--" Mr. Wilkinson said, still holding her
+hand, and looking intently in her face--" the feeling of profound
+regard, nay, I must call it, affection, which I have long
+entertained for you."
+
+A declaration so unexpected, under the circumstances, entirely
+destroyed all further efforts on the part of Constance, to control
+her feelings. She burst into tears, but did not attempt to withdraw
+her hand.
+
+"Can I hope for a return of like sentiment, Constance?" he at length
+said, tenderly.
+
+A few moments' silence ensued, when the weeping girl lifted her
+head, and looked him in the face with eyes, though filled with
+tears, full of love's tenderest expression.
+
+"I still confide in my father, Mr. Wilkinson," was her answer.
+
+"Then I would see your father to-night."
+
+Instantly Constance glided from the room, and in a few minutes her
+father came down into the parlour. A long conference ensued; and
+then the mother was sent for, and finally Constance again. Mr.
+Wilkinson made offers of marriage, which, being accepted, he urged
+an immediate consummation. Delay was asked, but he was so earnest,
+that all parties agreed that the wedding should take place in three
+days.
+
+In three days the rite was said, and Wilkinson, one of the most
+prosperous young merchants of Philadelphia, left for New York with
+his happy bride. A week soon glided away, at the end of which time
+they returned.
+
+"Where are we going?" Constance asked, as they entered a carriage on
+landing from the steamboat.
+
+"To our own house, of course!" was her husband's reply.
+
+"You didn't tell me that you had taken a house, and furnished it."
+
+"Didn't I? Well, that is something of an oversight. But you hardly
+thought that I was so simple as to catch a bird without having a
+cage first provided for it."
+
+"You had but little time to get the cage," thought Constance, but
+she did not utter the thought.
+
+In a few minutes the carriage stopped before a noble dwelling, the
+first glance of which bewildered the senses of the young bride, and
+caused her to lean silent and trembling upon her husband's arm, as
+she ascended the broad marble steps leading to the entrance. Thence
+she was ushered hurriedly into the parlours.
+
+There stood her father, mother, and sisters, ready to receive her.
+There was every article of furniture in its place, as she had left
+it but a little over a week before. The pictures, so much admired by
+her father, still hung on the wall; and there, in the old spot, was
+Willie s dear portrait, as sweet, as innocent, as tranquil as ever!
+One glance took in all this. In the next moment she fell weeping
+upon her mother's bosom.
+
+A few words will explain all. Mr. Wilkinson, who was comparatively
+wealthy, was just on the eve of making proposals for the hand of
+Constance Morton, when the sudden reverse overtook her father, and
+prostrated the hopes of the whole family. But his regard was a true
+one, and not to be marred or effaced by external changes. When he
+saw the sale of the house and furniture announced, he determined to
+buy all in at any price. And he did so. On the day of the sale, he
+bid over every competitor.
+
+On the night of his interview with Constance and her father, he
+proposed a partnership with the latter.
+
+"But I have nothing, you know, Mr. Wilkinson," he replied.
+
+"You have established business habits, and extensive knowledge of
+the operations of trade, and a large business acquaintance. And
+besides these, habits of discrimination obtained by long experience,
+which I need. With your co-operation in my business, I can double my
+profits. Will you join me?"
+
+"It were folly, Mr. Wilkinson, to say nay," Mr. Morton replied.
+"Then I will announce the co-partnership at once," he said.
+
+And it was announced before the day of marriage, but Constance did
+not see it.
+
+A happy elevation succeeded of course, the sudden, painful, but
+brief depression of their fortunes. Nor was any of that tried family
+less happy than before. And one was far happier. Still, neither Mr.
+Morton, nor the rest could ever look at Willie's portrait without
+remembering how near they had once been to losing it, nor without a
+momentary fear, that some change in life's coming mutations might
+rob them of the precious treasure, now doubly dear to them.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+VERY POOR.
+
+
+
+
+
+"WHAT has become of the Wightmans?" I asked of my old friend Payson.
+I had returned to my native place after an absence of several years.
+Payson looked grave.
+
+"Nothing wrong with them, I hope. Wightman was a clever man, and he
+had a pleasant family."
+
+My friend shook his head ominously.
+
+"He was doing very well when I left," said I.
+
+"All broken up now," was answered. "He failed several years ago."
+
+"Ah! I'm sorry to hear this. What has become of him?"
+
+"I see him now and then, but I don't know what he is doing."
+
+"And his family?"
+
+"They live somewhere in Old Town. I havn't met any of them for a
+long time. Some one told me that they were very poor."
+
+This intelligence caused a feeling of sadness to pervade my mind.
+The tone and manner of Payson, as he used the words "very poor,"
+gave to them more than ordinary meaning. I saw, in imagination, my
+old friend reduced from comfort and respectability, to a condition
+of extreme poverty, with all its sufferings and humiliations. While
+my mind was occupied with these unpleasant thoughts, my friend said,
+
+"You must dine with me to-morrow. Mrs. Payson will be glad to see
+you, and I want to have a long talk about old times. We dine at
+three."
+
+I promised to be with them, in agreement with the invitation; and
+then we parted. It was during business hours, and as my friend's
+manner was somewhat occupied and hurried, I did not think it right
+to trespass on his time. What I had learned of the Wightmans
+troubled my thoughts. I could not get them out of my mind. They were
+estimable people. I had prized them above ordinary acquaintances;
+and it did seem peculiarly hard that they should have suffered
+misfortune. "Very poor"--I could not get the words out of my ears.
+The way in which they were spoken involved more than the words
+themselves expressed, or rather, gave a broad latitude to their
+meaning. "VERY poor! Ah me!" The sigh was deep and involuntary.
+
+I inquired of several old acquaintances whom I met during the day
+for the Wightmans; but all the satisfaction I received was, that
+Wightman had failed in business several years before, and was now
+living somewhere in Old Town in a very poor way. "They are miserably
+poor," said one. "I see Wightman occasionally," said another--"he
+looks seedy enough." "His girls take in sewing, I have heard," said
+a third, who spoke with a slight air of contempt, as if there were
+something disgraceful attached to needle-work, when pursued as a
+means of livelihood. I would have called during the day, upon
+Wightman, but failed to ascertain his place of residence.
+
+"Glad to see you!" Payson extended his hand with a show of
+cordiality, as I entered his store between two and three o'clock on
+the next day.
+
+"Sit down and look over the papers for a little while," he added.
+"I'll be with you in a moment. Just finishing up my bank business."
+
+"Business first," was my answer, as I took the proffered newspaper.
+"Stand upon no ceremony with me."
+
+As Payson turned partly from me, and bent his head to the desk at
+which he was sitting, I could not but remark the suddenness with
+which the smile my appearance had awakened faded from his
+countenance. Before him was a pile of bank bills, several checks,
+and quite a formidable array of bank notices. He counted the bills
+and checks, and after recording the amount upon a slip of paper
+glanced uneasily at his watch, sighed, and then looked anxiously
+towards the door. At this moment a clerk entered hastily, and made
+some communication in an undertone, which brought from my friend a
+disappointed and impatient expression.
+
+"Go to Wilson," said he hurriedly, "and tell him to send me a check
+for five hundred without fail. Say that I am so much short in my
+bank payments, and that it is now too late to get the money any
+where else. Don't linger a moment; it is twenty five minutes to
+three now."
+
+The clerk departed. He was gone full ten minutes, during which
+period Payson remained at his desk, silent, but showing many signs
+of uneasiness. On returning, he brought the desired check, and was
+then dispatched to lift the notes for which this late provision was
+made.
+
+"What a life for a man to lead," said my friend, turning to me with
+a contracted brow and a sober face. "I sometimes wish myself on an
+island in mid ocean. You remember C----?"
+
+"Very well."
+
+"He quit business a year ago, and bought a farm. I saw him the other
+day. 'Payson,' said he, with an air of satisfaction, 'I haven't seen
+a bank notice this twelvemonth.' He's a happy man! This note paying
+is the curse of my life. I'm forever on the street
+financiering--_Financiering_. How I hate the word! But come--they'll
+be waiting dinner for us. Mrs. Payson is delighted at the thought of
+seeing you. How long is it since you were here? About ten years, if
+I'm not mistaken. You'll find my daughters quite grown up. Clara is
+in her twentieth year. You, of course, recollect her only as a
+school girl. Ah me! how time does fly!"
+
+I found my friend living in a handsome house in Franklin street. It
+was showily, not tastefully, furnished, and the same might be said
+of his wife and daughters. When I last dined with them--it was many
+years before--they were living in a modest, but very comfortable
+way, and the whole air of their dwelling was that of cheerfulness
+and comfort. Now, though their ample parlors were gay with rich
+Brussels, crimson damask, and brocatelle, there was no genuine home
+feeling there. Mrs. Payson, the last time I saw her, wore a
+mousseline de lain, of subdued colors, a neat lace collar around her
+neck, fastened with a small diamond pin, the marriage gift of her
+father. Her hair, which curled naturally, was drawn behind her ears
+in a few gracefully falling ringlets. She needed no other ornament.
+Anything beyond would have taken from her the chiefest of her
+attractions, her bright, animated countenance, in which her friends
+ever read a heart-welcome.
+
+How changed from this was the rather stately woman, whose real
+pleasure at seeing an old friend was hardly warm enough to melt
+through the ice of an imposed formality. How changed from this the
+pale, cold, worn face, where selfishness and false pride had been
+doing a sad, sad work. Ah! the rich Honiton lace cap and costly
+cape; the profusion of gay ribbons, and glitter of jewelry; the
+ample folds of glossy satin; how poor a compensation were they for
+the true woman I had parted with a few years ago, and now sought
+beneath these showy adornments in vain!
+
+Two grown-up daughters, dressed almost as flauntingly as their
+mother, were now presented. In the artificial countenance of the
+oldest, I failed to discover any trace of my former friend Clara.
+
+A little while we talked formally, and with some constraint all
+round; then, as the dinner had been waiting us, and was now served,
+we proceeded to the dining-room. I did not feel honored by the
+really sumptuous meal the Paysons had provided for their old friend;
+because it was clearly to be seen that no honor was intended. The
+honor was all for themselves. The ladies had not adorned their
+persons, nor provided their dinner, to give me welcome and pleasure,
+but to exhibit to the eyes of their guest, their wealth, luxury, and
+social importance. If I had failed to perceive this, the
+conversation of the Paysons would have made it plain, for it was of
+style and elegance in house-keeping and dress--of the ornamental in
+all its varieties; and in no case of the truly domestic and useful.
+Once or twice I referred to the Wightmans; but the ladies knew
+nothing of them, and seemed almost to have forgotten that such
+persons ever lived.
+
+It did not take long to discover that, with all the luxury by which
+my friends were surrounded, they were far from being happy. Mrs.
+Payson and her daughters, had, I could see, become envious as well
+as proud. They wanted a larger house, and more costly furniture in
+order to make as imposing an appearance as some others whom they did
+not consider half as good as themselves. To all they said on this
+subject, I noticed that Payson himself maintained, for the most
+part, a half-moody silence. It was, clearly enough, unpleasant to
+him.
+
+"My wife and daughters think I am made of money," said he, once,
+half laughing. "But if they knew how hard it was to get hold of,
+sometimes, they would be less free in spending. I tell them I am a
+poor man, comparatively speaking; but I might as well talk to the
+wind."
+
+"Just as well," replied his wife, forcing an incredulous laugh;
+"why will you use such language? A poor man!"
+
+"He that wants what he is not able to buy, is a poor man, if I
+understand the meaning of the term," said Payson, with some feeling.
+"And he who lives beyond his income, as a good many of our
+acquaintances do to my certain knowledge, is poorer still."
+
+"Now don't get to riding that hobby, Mr. Payson," broke in my
+friend's wife, deprecatingly--"don't, if you please. In the first
+place, it's hardly polite, and, in the second place, it is by no
+means agreeable. Don't mind him"--and the lady turned to me
+gaily--"he gets in these moods sometimes."
+
+I was not surprised at this after what I had witnessed, about his
+house. Put the scenes and circumstances together, and how could it
+well be otherwise? My friend, thus re-acted upon, ventured no
+further remark on a subject that was so disagreeable to his family.
+But while they talked of style and fashion, he sat silent, and to my
+mind oppressed with no very pleasant thoughts. After the ladies had
+retired, he said, with considerable feeling--
+
+"All this looks and sounds very well, perhaps; but there are two
+aspects to almost everything. My wife and daughters get one view of
+life, and I another. They see the romance, I the hard reality. It is
+impossible for me to get money as fast as they wish to spend it. It
+was my fault in the beginning, I suppose. Ah! how difficult it is to
+correct an error when once made. I tell them that I am a poor man,
+but they smile in my face, and ask me for a hundred dollars to shop
+with in the next breath. I remonstrate, but it avails not, for they
+don't credit what I say. AND I AM POOR--poorer, I sometimes think,
+than the humblest of my clerks, who manages, out of his salary of
+four hundred a year, to lay up fifty dollars. He is never in want of
+a dollar, while I go searching about, anxious and troubled, for my
+thousands daily. He and his patient, cheerful, industrious little
+wife find peace and contentment in the single room their limited
+means enables them to procure, while my family turn dissatisfied
+from the costly adornments of our spacious home, and sigh for richer
+furniture, and a larger and more showy mansion. If I were a
+millionaire, their ambition might be satisfied. Now, their ample
+wishes may not be filled. I must deny them, or meet inevitable ruin.
+As it is, I am living far beyond a prudent limit--not half so far,
+however, as many around me, whose fatal example is ever tempting the
+weak ambition of their neighbors."
+
+This and much more of similar import, was said by Payson. When I
+returned from his elegant home, there was no envy in my heart. He
+was called a rich and prosperous man by all whom I heard speak of
+him, but in my eyes, he was very poor.
+
+A day or two afterwards, I saw Wightman in the street. He was so
+changed in appearance that I should hardly have known him, had he
+not first spoken. He looked in my eyes, twenty years older than when
+we last met. His clothes were poor, though scrupulously clean; and,
+on observing him more closely, I perceived an air of neatness and
+order, that indicates nothing of that disregard about external
+appearance which so often accompanies poverty.
+
+He grasped my hand cordially, and inquired, with a genuine interest,
+after my health and welfare. I answered briefly, and then said:
+
+"I am sorry to hear that it is not so well with you in worldly
+matters as when I left the city."
+
+A slight shadow flitted over his countenance, but it grew quickly
+cheerful again.
+
+"One of the secrets of happiness in this life," said he, "is
+contentment with our lot. We rarely learn this in prosperity. It is
+not one of the lessons taught in that school."
+
+"And you have learned it?" said I.
+
+"I have been trying to learn it," he answered, smiling. "But I find
+it one of the most difficult of lessons. I do not hope to acquire it
+perfectly."
+
+A cordial invitation to visit his family and take tea with them
+followed, and was accepted. I must own, that I prepared to go to the
+Wightmans with some misgivings as to the pleasure I should receive.
+Almost every one of their old acquaintances, to whom I had addressed
+inquiries on the subject, spoke of them with commiseration, as "very
+poor." If Wightman could bear the change with philosophy, I hardly
+expected to find the same Christian resignation in his wife, whom I
+remembered as a gay, lively woman, fond of social pleasures.
+
+Such were my thoughts when I knocked at the door of a small house,
+that stood a little back from the street. It was quickly opened by a
+tall, neatly-dressed girl, whose pleasant face lighted into a smile
+of welcome as she pronounced my name.
+
+"This is not Mary?" I said as I took her proffered hand.
+
+"Yes, this is your little Mary," she answered. "Father told me you
+were coming."
+
+Mrs. Wightman came forward as I entered the room into which the
+front door opened, and gave me a most cordial welcome. Least of all
+had time and reverses changed her. Though a little subdued, and
+rather paler and thinner, her face had the old heart-warmth in
+it--the eyes were bright from the same cheerful spirit.
+
+"How glad I am to see you again!" said Mrs. Wightman. And she was
+glad. Every play of feature, every modulation of tone, showed this.
+
+Soon her husband came in, and then she excused herself with a smile,
+and went out, as I very well understood, to see after tea. In a
+little while supper was ready, and I sat down with the family in
+their small breakfast room, to one of the pleasantest meals I have
+ever enjoyed. A second daughter, who was learning a trade, came in
+just as we were taking our places at the table, and was introduced.
+What a beautiful glow was upon her young countenance! She was the
+very image of health and cheerfulness.
+
+When I met Wightman in the street, I thought his countenance wore
+something of a troubled aspect--this was the first impression made
+upon me. Now, as I looked into his face, and listened to his
+cheerful, animated conversation, so full of life's true philosophy,
+I could not but feel an emotion of wonder. "Very poor!" How little
+did old friends, who covered their neglect of this family with these
+commiserating words, know of their real state. How little did they
+dream that sweet peace folded her wings in that humble dwelling
+nightly; and that morning brought to each a cheerful, resolute
+spirit, which bore them bravely through all their daily toil.
+
+"How are you getting along now Wightman?" I asked, as, after bidding
+good evening to his pleasant family, I stood with him at the gate
+opening from the street to his modest dwelling.
+
+"Very well," was his cheerful reply. "It was up hill work for
+several years, when I only received five hundred dollars salary as
+clerk, and all my children were young. But now, two of them are
+earning something, and I receive eight hundred dollars instead of
+five. We have managed to save enough to buy this snug little house.
+The last payment was made a month since. I am beginning to feel
+rich."
+
+And he laughed a pleasant laugh.
+
+"Very poor," I said to myself, musingly, as I walked away from the
+humble abode of the Wightmans. "Very poor. The words have had a
+wrong application."
+
+On the next day I met Payson.
+
+"I spent last evening with the Wightmans," said I.
+
+"Indeed! How did you find them? Very poor, of course."
+
+"I have not met a more cheerful family for years. No, Mr. Payson
+they are not '_very poor_,' for they take what the great Father
+sends, and use it with thankfulness. _Those who ever want more than
+they possess are the very poor._ But such are not the Wightmans."
+
+Payson looked at me a moment or two curiously, and then let his eyes
+fall to the ground. A little while he mused. Light was breaking in
+upon him.
+
+"Contented and thankful!" said he, lifting his eyes from the ground.
+"Ah! my friend, if I and mine were only contented and thankful!"
+
+"You have cause to be," I remarked. "The great Father hath covered
+your table with blessings."
+
+"And yet we are poor--VERY POOR," said he, "for we are neither
+contented nor thankful. We ask for more than we possess, and,
+because it is not given, we are fretful and impatient. Yes, yes--we,
+not the Wightmans, are poor--very poor."
+
+And with these words on his lips, my old friend turned from me, and
+walked slowly away, his head bent in musing attitude to the ground.
+Not long afterwards, I heard that he had failed.
+
+"Ah!" thought I, when this news reached me, "now you are poor, VERY
+poor, indeed!" And it was so.
+The Project Gutenberg Etext of Home Lights and Shadows
+by T. S. Arthur
+******This file should be named hmlgh10.txt or hmlgh10.zip******
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+End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Home Lights and Shadows
+by T. S. Arthur
+
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